I tell her that it’s 2062 where I come from.

Clocks are trouble. They lie. Women are trouble. They know when you’re lying. Bloody hell. I don’t know what day it is.

“Y’know, Marilyn Monroe was a Russian spy?” “Nope. But a postman wrote Ham on Rye.”

Oh, no it’s Him! Behold the Benevolent Butcher: Here to collect his dues. He beckons me kindly to open the door. He tries to seduce me with a Holy Verse from the Holy Book. But I see the bloodied cimeter with which he intends to smite me. I also spot his ravenous hound, the bastard […]

MORNING SONGS   Raindrops rest on golden waves, She tugs and pulls with an ivory comb. Coffee brews in the kitchen, She hums an old Celtic tune.   Curtains drenched in warm orange light, The oak trees sigh on 9th Avenue. She plucks a rhododendron from the forest, She hums an old jhyāurey tune.   […]