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They have always loved one another cheek to cheek, their golden heads leaned together and conspiring smiles on young, smooth lips. Arm in arm they walk, hip to hip they stand.

One cannot love one’s reflection though it is there, and if one should hate it, there it still remains.

If there had been anything more unnerving and disquieting, she thought that it was the tiny world inside each thin glass-and-plastic fairy-light on the christmas tree.

It had seemed like forever, like a lonely […]

There, here, is rough-hewn wood, polished
with Danish wax, with elbows

There is the warmth of strangers,
here are afghans over tired couches.

Snow falls, dirty, humane, outside, lingers
on cold windowsills.

He sat down at the writing-desk one morning, and found, much to his dismay, that nothing came to mind.

The day was fine; the smooth sunlight slotted through the windowpanes onto clean floorboards, illuminating […]

At boarding school, Jeremy used to stand with his back against the door of the wardrobe.

It had been a heavy, French armoire, the sort that seemed likely to fall over at any given moment- and so he and his […]

There was lint in the spaces, the air thick with the smell of car-polish and a new, industrial sort of scent as if the trunk were the head, as if the car were an old dog, remembering past all else what it had been like to have been young, when the children were still scolded [...]

The halls whispered- ‘though still-unravished bride of quietness- with the curtains drawn back from the windows and the grounds outside, damp English weather.

Little more than veined torsos with sightless eyes and graceful shoulders, sexless from cheek to navel with their hair in curls, calcified.

This is something that is happening right now. As we speak your time is trickling away from you in a way that the younger do not understand and the older do not care to remember, and you will look back to find this time both more difficult and easier than anything else you will ever [...]

It’s a lonely sort of life, cracks in the walls, monochromatic strips like foreign spy films at 10pm.

Her fingernails are perfect, the polish nevertheless chipped as she flips cards worn soft at the edges.

He had found himself one day at the train station for no other reason than that he was walking past it, hat pulled down against the mocking Bedfordshire wind. He had sat, for the longest time, on the grimy seats painted over crudely in green, recalling the ghost-vestiges of smoke; a disappearing window; a slender, [...]