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an imagined conversation with an estranged friend for a future article in a lifestyle magazine about the failures of a creative life

do you still draw? no. how come? i’m not sure. as a boy it used to be like eating. i wish i remember what the drawings were for.  what they were for- i watched my son draw and he either showed me the page afterwards or he just threw it aside and started another one.  you feel one was for you and the other for- for himself, for nothing, for itself? do you still draw?  yes.  do you draw from compulsion still? yes i suppose i maintained the practice of drawing. not always for the same reasons though. increasingly they’re like notes for me.  and who are the notes for? for me i think mainly and ideas for work. do they look much different - the drawings for you and the ideas for work? probably. i’m not always convinced i have a popular taste but I can sometimes recognise what might be popular. you might draw yourself an apple and then a pear that people might like. yes. or i usually draw something and decide if I like it. if I decide i like it I...
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on the air

give me the sound of a school playground on the air that fenced in joy please play me it on loop
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low tide

if death isn’t just nothingness then i feel it might be like this  an endless wet sandy beach and the dim rattle of far off waves the sky blocked by clouds that sag grey in the air  and a wind that plugs the ears and loudens the mind  i stop and you walk on barefoot and carefree as I look for you in the distance  i saw you as a memory i’ll have i can see your smile from here  you said you talked to your body coaching it to fight the cancer you saw the sea as limitlessness an open expanse of opportunity this place gave you hope and your voice a clarity i felt a stranger in it in this space where our privacy wanders through an air of stem cells the air we breathe in dreams  walking always at a distance a guest still wearing his shoes
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the trellick tower lobby

the door opened on first press a resident followed us through and with a smile let us in the inner door still  using his fob on the broken lock  we stood in a small lobby  while he punched the lift buttons and explained to us in another language that a lift wasn’t working primary coloured bauhaus windows in concrete were at one end of the lobby  and an exposed ceiling above a long vacant concierge was at the other the resident offered us to take the lift first and  we declined too politely to be taken seriously  two other residents came out the lift and turned back before leaving are you visiting? we didn’t feel invisible anymore because people here get funny about people coming in We understand, we’re just going to take a picture of that wall and go you can contact the residents association I think or there’s days you can visit we’re just going to take a picture of that wall and go ok cool we considered taking the lift to explore more  but I was uneas...
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over the fence

hooligan seagulls and brassy brazilian from a back door open wide  there’s a dappled orange light on the grass like the surface of a pool  and leaves flutter on bushes of carnival skirts a dandelion clock head floats across the blue that tendrils of bushes stretch their limbs to everything’s still  with each little piece moving  and the cat rolls through chalk
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by the fountain at st. barts

sitting around the fountain outside st. barts wheelchairs and scrubs patients and family pigeons gathering like rolex street sellers the fountain spills  and fills itself up to spill again a lady in a gown is wheeled to the fountain by her adult daughters  she reaches out a heavy hand and they playfully scoop the cold water into her palm  there’s joy on their faces    a child showing love through service and a dying person savouring the touch of cold water  just got to get through the day, a doctor tells his colleague as they walk past, then it’s the weekend    
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