Her Cameo Idling away the incessant hourshere at night can often feel likeJimmy Stewart in Rear Window;minus the key grips and gaffers. We make do these days withslimline hand devices and otherneuro diversions—time crawls onas light hues change unnoticed. It’s a slow pan with tight closeupshot before cutting away to theseduction scene—in privé à présent.Continue reading “Her Cameo”
Tag Archives: #writingprocess
Dreaming Volumes
Dreaming Volumes Hardy snorts the glacial air;finds morning’s first brew prosaic.Last night’s jottings petered out,leaving his middle ear in two minds. No good harping on with old hatsor yesterday’s retro headlines.Those flash new chaps with theirclever tunes make his eyes water. He storms out to the sycamorewith his latest missive &bellows at shit faced poets,Continue reading “Dreaming Volumes”
The Frame Sculptor
The Frame Sculptor The opening is like an out of bodyBergman on his own self analysis couch.He’s a cunning light thief, this man;all calculated optics and Rembrandt line. The way he renders distilled theatrefox like—coaxing the eyeball withsteel retina and well tempered Leica.An unflinching countenance setagainst an expanse of stark dimension,right down to the nittyContinue reading “The Frame Sculptor”
Time Out from Time
Time Out from Time Neon motels grin likefireflies in bright rows of equidistant allure—longhaul fatigue lag has set inbehind the fuck off eyewear. It’s off the cuff interludesfrom location scout road tripping;foraging for other placesnot yet inhabited or understood. I’ve embroidered furniturewith nightcaps & slim volumesof retro syntax—going overeach line with chilled cans & éclairsContinue reading “Time Out from Time”
Night Primer
Night Primer A muted dusk makes it’s usualappearance—announcing a slytransition with finegradations of charcoal blue above silhouette overlays,like a first year art student’savant-garde designer eyeshadow palette – she addsa final flourish to her magnumopus with obsidian finality. ©️Orion Foote, 2022
On Being Here
On Being Here Cool tides in the arctic season will oftenbring new dialects from foreign borders near. The morning’s deep surge offers bits andbobs—fond musings with bright candour, not unlike buoyant desires of the odd orthe curious in their strange and crass logic. To gorge on brisk vapours that hang in boredsuspense along a stoicContinue reading “On Being Here”
As if I Didn’t Know
As if I Didn’t Know Rumours of rain manifest.Incoming coastal spray & road dross lash the swingingwindow wipers down throughstate highway six this morning. Sinatra’s grinding it out slowin the back seat—starts puttingthe moves on me like an old pro.Here’s that rainy day againand don’t I know it sweetheart. I have to pull over beforeContinue reading “As if I Didn’t Know”
General’s Report
General’s Report I was just coming to gripswith the opening salvo, whena dubious timbre escaped herthroat. It set off the twitchy hair trigger, as electrodes in mybrain arrived with the artillery.Fortress walls clattered with themêlée of spiky syllables in flight. Her footsteps retreating jigtime down gossiping stairshad the last word—inflictingthe heavier damage by a longContinue reading “General’s Report”
Flop House Lauréates
Flop House Lauréates It’s seldom wise to slashaway at an underripe harvest.Far better to reopen theinvestigation into what drivesthe impulse, or carry on withunfinished autopsies onselected cadavers—now easilyavailable to those withthe stomach & a keen eyefor the sordid details. It’s like we’re forever trawlingan index of minor poets in aProustian stupor, or seekingoral on theContinue reading “Flop House Lauréates”
Low Heroes & the Lodger
Low Heroes & the Lodger Let’s not talk of DJ’s or of blackouts.I’m breaking glass & crashingthrough iron doors at Hansa witha loaded Luger & a bunch of wonderfulpeople—all teeming with silent problems.We’ll scrawl bright red graffiti & nailit all down to a nouveau art millennium. I’m sick of this rotting wine; the lustfulglances inContinue reading “Low Heroes & the Lodger”
Visions of Orion Poetry 