An Open Letter To The MySpace Generation

"Awesome" is the new "Nice." Please stop.

Victory Rose

Hammersmith never knew what hit it.
They came from the Northern lands,
armed with gauze and shadowplay and
projection (both front and back).
They came armed with brass and strings
and clavichord and flute and a multitude of glockenspiels.
They came armed with all things hopelandish.
This carbunkle corner of guttersnipe urban tangle
is engulfed, all too briefly,
by the sound of the slow-moving tundra.

http://www.myspace.com/sigurros

Timothy Treadwell RIP

Even though you ended-up
being eaten alive,
bit by bit by bit by bit,
I can certainly see the attraction.

www.grizzlymanmovie.com/grizzly.html

The Quintessential Seaside Town

So this is how British Summertime begins;
sharing a bed for the first time
with a man I've known nearly all my adult life.
We've lost an hour. Both of us.
Just like that. Overnight.
Buffeted by salty spume,
I stand on the edge and gaze
longingly into the tidal void.
The chimes of the arcade bells
and the scent of the candyfloss hold no appeal for me today.
Is it so terribly wrong I wonder
to walk streets and visit places you once walked and visited together?
To enfold yourself in the memories they conjure
and just... ponder for a while?
So this is how British Summertime begins.
Her presence clings to me like a fine mist.
Or maybe should that should be "a cold sweat"?