Home: where the platelets are My chemical wife Seasonal, cocktailed, House devoured. We need sausages, glucose, Pork extract jelly perhaps. Her dream is calorific. The lounge is a ward, We are pillmongers, All at pharma-sea. Dust settles, The dog scuffs rugs, Sleeps. M @imcmillan.bsky.social

Show Post

Trimontium, rain coming. Pastel and pencil on paper.

Show Post

Early stroll. A distant motorbike at the very edge of audibility. A winding trail of fallen leaves. The neon language of the tanning shop. Those Belisha beacons blink endlessly at each other. I saw that dropped pencil on Friday.

Show Post

At the shop the shopkeeper is sorting the papers out. I ask whereThe Sunday Lad is, and she says he worked such long hours yesterday he’s got the day off. I imagine him asleep, dreaming of snipping endless bundles of papers.

Show Post

A moment’s reflection.

Show Post