Daniel Nixon Out of season, the air around the slumpednets clings to every passer-by. The rustedblade of autumn light, dulled and heavy, hacks a path through the day. On the seawalla chipped china teacup, decorated with powderblue petals, sits out of focus and empty. The sea is inky black, annoyed and spitting.Closed and bathed in … Continue reading Saltwater

            Caleb Simon When autumn comes, it ripsthrough the horizon, strippingthe trees of their medals. The sky is blinding. It’s not fly-tipping, you decide,to peel off your skinand leave it by the stream. At least the crows talk to you, drop metacarpals and can tabs at your feet.You offer salted nuts in return. Scooping up loose dirt, you … Continue reading On the equinox you throw out your wardrobe

            Gordon Vells I know we haven’t been in contact for a whileyou sent some chaps with candlesa few years ago was itI left out cookies but they didn’t seem to notice I hope all is well with youfrom over here it’s hard to tellbut your garden it still looks beautifulme I try to keep the … Continue reading The Man in the Moon Sends a Voice Note

            Selima Hill The Canteen I never went near the stupid place. I lived on dates like George Bernard Shaw. They found me on the bathroom floor, apparently, beside a large salmon-pink hot-water-bottle, although by then it was the height of summer.              The Cockroach When he woke up one morning under the old sandwich-toaster, he … Continue reading The Person with a Cauliflower

            Courtney Conrad The salon was a field of sunflowerswith good posture. Black leather chairspadded with sofa pillows for hairstylesspanning three-plus hours. Sundayswere mother-daughter days, melanated facesradiated as heads leaned back into basinsfor scalp massages. Under the blow dryer,seeds cracked to speak of troublesome children, marital affairs and church prophecies.I dreamt of taking you here.On what … Continue reading Sunshine

            Alexandra Melville When the courier arrives and if the product matchesthe description. How sweet or bitter a clementine tastesand how much pith sleeps under the skin.If the cat is sick on our bed or the floor.Whether my period comes. If you hidea bottle at the back of the cabinet.How much rain falls in September.Whether my … Continue reading Step 1/12: I will be powerless over

            Pat Winslow Pat Winslow worked for twelve years as an actor before leaving the theatre in 1987. She’s published seven poetry collections, including Kissing Bones with Templar Poetry. Pat enjoys commissioned collaborations with filmmakers, composers and artists. She also works as a storyteller and as a celebrant for Humanists UK.

            Nicholas Hogg The wasted year in dead end jobs. Carving up roadsor selling glass. Heros with giros, when the work dried up,and the dope you bought to deal was crap. The best gig I hadwas a week in Hull, pointing up bricks on a factory wall.Grinding out mortar in the pouring rain. Ridiculous, dousingsheets of … Continue reading IOU

            Miranda Peake She says she’s done it all before, she’ll wait for uson the bench under the chestnut tree. Inside, we’re off at a runwheeling round the corners, Miles in the lead, confidentknowing we must make mistakes to get it right. Amity is nextand I follow, breathing in her panic as we rush wordlessly onthe … Continue reading My mother refuses to go in

            Paul Stephenson I can see boats and colourful umbrellas.I can see heads and torsos and arms holding colourful umbrellas in boats. I can see mendriving boats of heads and torsos and arms holding colourful umbrellas, see the mouths ofmen driving boats moving, saying things I can’t hear to heads and torsos and arms holdingcolourful umbrellas. … Continue reading Ghent