Fiction: Yer Man
Inside the castle’s gift shop stood White, reading the biography of the artist whose work…
Inside the castle’s gift shop stood White, reading the biography of the artist whose work…
This article has been gestating for some time. I must admit to a long-standing loathing…
Hope in Despair I have always loved museums, no doubt having a kind of prophetic…
Commuting with Baudelaire We are living in a time when there are no gentlemen. So,…
It was Saturday morning. Maher was lying in bed. He had just woken up. It…
I immediately twitch with an almost intolerable discomfort when I hear the words freedom and…
The Bridge After Meryon Bridge of Be-ing, all arches mirrrored upon The river running –…
Irish Rail Dublin, that old whore, with her piss -stained pavements Abruptly transforms into a…
Poems in the Manner of the Devil After Alexandar Ristović (1933-1994) If you can’t chew…
Whenever I think about Literature I think about Love. Both are written with big Ls.…
Before a recent online poetry reading I was invited to meet with other international participants.…
Awarded one of the Tidiest Towns in the nation, the place was profoundly inept and…