Burning Time

The hot red-orange glow of a slow-burning cigarette is hypnotic to a particular frame of mind it hits you somewhere between emotional exhaustion and hopelessly lost —locks you in a maudlin trance and it won’t let you move a muscle. Sat stiffly on a cold garden wall as smoke curls away into the midnight air…

Cuckoo

There’s a man who lives across the alley pops his head out of his patio doors at regular intervals throughout the day every day of the week   he’s an older gent, maybe eighty years of age I call him the cuckoo man because he’s like clockwork his reason for his timely appearances at those…