Friday, October 31
Waiting for a train, Bramley
The yeasty breath of the bakery reaches Bramley station, where the icy cold of the metal seats soaks through skirts to skin.
Thursday, October 30
out of sorts, I turn up the heating and warm myself back to health
Wednesday, October 29
Memory from last night, trailing
Rain and dark press in, the jeep in front trails warm red light on the shiny road. Ahead, the red behind the woodburner's clear glass spurs me on.
Tuesday, October 28
thick frost, an hour after sunrise
the fur on the yellow leaves grows heavy and drips (with sudden glints) onto the grass
Monday, October 27
on waking my body has lost its weight - my bones are the bones of birds
Sunday, October 26
yesterday's fire lies in ashes
Saturday, October 25
watery peach and tangerine flames lazily lick the logs
Friday, October 24
this. small. loneliness.
is missing the point
is missing the point
Thursday, October 23
the wind opens its mouth and blows across the chimey stack as if it is a bottle
Wednesday, October 22
Narrow alleyway, dusk
Step sideways to avoid the metal edges of the skip, or further to avoid the edge of smell.
Tuesday, October 21
seven painted partridge heads bob in the long grass
Monday, October 20
it's all talk...
Sunday, October 19
The thick skin cracks, draws a straight gash that cuts down into the pink. When I open my hand it threatens to split at the ends. When I open my hand it hurts.
Saturday, October 18
whatever else happens, don't forget to feed the birds
Friday, October 17
on a big wooden table: a bunch of yellow tulips
Thursday, October 16
Fatty comes in for breakfast
He loudly announces his presence then runs upstairs to jump on my lap. His black ankle fur is sparkling with dew.
Wednesday, October 15
What now? What else?
A taste like metal in my mouth. The pressure of shin against knee, bent foot against wall. Spiced orange extinguished candle scent. Fast tyres on wet road, Emiliana Torrini singing a lullaby. A thirst. These strings of letters unrolling before me like a red carpet.
Tuesday, October 14
spiderweb. wasp. terrible writhing.
Monday, October 13
at the edges of his mouth
strings of saliva hold onto his top and bottom lip as he speaks
Sunday, October 12
the sillhouette of a hedge-top wren dips his jaunty tail and chitters in the sun
Saturday, October 11
Sheffield city centre
The pavements already slicked with work-all-week-go-mad-at-the-weekend vomit.
Friday, October 10
the khaki beetle opens his wings, flashes orange
Thursday, October 9
a minute past midnight
mottled golden wodge of moon
Wednesday, October 8
the sun shines on the anniversary of my birth
Tuesday, October 7
On failing to catch a mouse
He mistakes me for my cat and zig-zags the kitchen floor before scooting behind the cooker. I imagine laying a cartoon trail of cheese to the open front door.
Monday, October 6
Falling behind on my poem-a-day calendar
...The velvet peaches of August...
Sunday, October 5
he chucks out twenty seeds or more to get to the type he likes
Saturday, October 4
the perfect Saturday morning for a cat
after eating breakfast and a nap, Silver attacks the bathroom mat again
Friday, October 3
on opening the front door
a trio of goldfinches rise
Thursday, October 2
a passing truck floods the white wall with shifting tangerine
Wednesday, October 1
ONE PERSON A DAY IN READING DIES FROM FAGS
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