"random inaccess"



Letters describe a moment
where time stretches—
stairs growing longer
with each season,
yet the house doesn’t change.

Names slip—
spoken and lost,
like coins lost in a torn pocket—
clinking faintly in empty halls.

Mornings are misplaced,
slipped into tired afternoons.

The calendar lies blank,
scraped raw,
its edges powdered with erased plans.

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empty nest

Stairs lengthen
with the seasons,
names slip like
coins in torn cloth.

A calendar lies scraped,
its edges powdered with absence.

Looking‑glass memory fogs,
reflections scatter into hollow rooms.
Between heartbeats—
quiet nestles within its cage.




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The magpies

nesting in the beech

began shouting

angry

to see a squirrel

in their tree

Attracted

like bad boys in the playground

more magpies

joined in

hopping from branch to branch

a harsh chatter

of anger

The squirrel

preferring a quiet life

left

by way of my garden

wall

Today the tree is silent

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