Iseult lived by the water. She lived by the wide brown river. Her eyes were brown and her skin was brown. Iseult lived by the water and she didn’t know she was drowning.
Iseult Bonne-Âme
Category: Fiction
Some of what I write is not true; so I put it here. Mind you, some of what’s here is true… but, well…
Seasoned
Uncurls the fern in spring’s dawny damp; unfurls the shawling wind across the falling heights of winter’s decay.
Fox: hunting
Wind runs strong from the home of Morningstar, I’ll hunt at Old Farm, for Cold Farm will smell me coming tonight...
The Thief
Mather the thief pushed through the stink of people at Covent market, eyed the singer’s begging-bowl of pinchbeck, moved on
Snake
A kitten wandered away from his milky mother, and met a snake in the grass...
Oh God Liam
JohnnyBGood says I’m always the lucky one, because my Seven Day was the day that we didn’t all die.
The Good Mother
She barely remembered the coupling, had no reason to associate it with what was happening now ...
