Time to drive. a poem.

The manual transmission sticks at times, a reminder that we need a service and I need to find a new place for my engine to unwind. There was a time when things were simpler, when you could change the sparks yourself. But now it’s all computers, and instruments and waxing/waning moments in technicolor and surroundContinue reading “Time to drive. a poem.”

Rope. A poem.

Tease this silver filament, an ambit claim on every foot, squeezed and cajoled through calloused hands. Climb this tensile fibre, climb until the heavens bloom and your body retches from the unyielding pressure. When you reach your goal, set free the cord of Theseus that led you ever-onward in your rise to Olympus. For moreContinue reading “Rope. A poem.”