Author Archives: (Not actually a Lady) Ruthless

their threat was a tubeand a starch white bedas if I was some suffragettein a cell that I had chosen as if I was thin-fingered malicewith a scheme on the skinof my kneeswhen I shrieked in the mouthof the box they clapped shut but a rat can slipthrough a hole like a dimeand a TomContinue reading “Tubes”

my curse has always beento romanticise my lifewhen it didn’t deserve it that time we kissed in the rainI was an fleabite on your armthat you scratched when I turned away the Polaroid of us drinkingmulled wine in a cabinI looked at for a swollen momentthen threw out with the rest of it running shoelessContinue reading “Calcify”

we’re too alike, you and Inot by the filaments of a cellor by bone; your face is yoursand mine is paint and polymer before that I looked like my fatherso people said, a backhandwith a smile, although I was youfrom the brine of the afterbirthyour code pressed into the wrinklesof my brain like crisp ironingContinue reading “Next Of Kin”

It was Friday night when Lois found the hole. It had opened up in the flowerbed, where the cats had been buried, one after the other, where the summer blooms had been brown and wilted and dying. They were all gone now, having fallen into the black pit without a trace. It was as wideContinue reading “Gone Were The Flowers”

The snow lay heavy in the village, even thicker than it did back home in Boston; there was more of it every winter, it seemed. Tomo stood with his head craned back, watching the heavens fall. He wondered how long it would take for them to cover him completely if he lay down upon theContinue reading “Tomo’s Path”

I know how I’ll dress when you’re gone waist small as two fistslips laquered black,black as the pineI’ll rap with my knucklesto see you out, to see youspun into cinderson a loom at which Death toiledwith sympathetic fingersturning dustinto gold I know how I’ll stand meeting the shiftinggaze of any who thoughtI was a shadowfromContinue reading “A Funeral In Bangor”

Memories hurt more in the summeror mine do, at least;I can only speak for myself,myself being all that I know-human feeling has long beenother to me, each mood and whim returning as unfamiliaras the scent of outerspace;they say that it smells like char,and somehow that speaks to memore than people ever didbecause I knowhow itContinue reading “The Rhythm Of A Number”

They stood together, perplexed, staring at the door in the middle of the field. It was at least eight foot high, made of old old steel and reinforced glass, like something torn off the side of a machine. The kind of thing that fell from the sky in science fiction novels, only the door hadn’tContinue reading “THE DOOR FROM NOWHERE”

I photographed Erzebet Almo’s last exhibition, but I didn’t keep any of the pictures for myself, not so much as a thumbnail. Even if they hadn’t been highly censored as one of the most controversial moments in modern art history I wouldn’t have wanted too seek them out; it made me sick to look atContinue reading “The Last Exhibition Of Erzebet Almo”