August 11, 2013 § Leave a comment
“The cog? Is it still missing?”
“It was a tooth that was missing. Not the cog. And yes, it’s still missing.”
“Ah. Not good.”
“Things don’t just re-appear like that.”
“But they disappear like that?”
“You’re not helping, you know.”
“Yes, well… What are you working on?”
“Just a poem, Some thoughts.”
“Read it out then.”
“I’d rather not, it’s not finished yet. I’m not exactly sure it’s started, to be honest.”
“How can it not be started? You just said you’re working on it!”
“Maybe I’m working on starting it.”
March 11, 2013 § Leave a comment
///Colours// thinks the Bat. //Colours kill these days/Worse than kill/Make you wished you’d been killed//
The Bat shifts its weight, hunkering down onto the tiled roof. The brass wings arcing from its back click and settle into a new position. They scrape the chimney behind it and leave pale gouges in the crumbling mortar.
///Colours// thinks the Bat. //Colours give life these days/Food and coin/Depends who asks/Depends who wants/Bat knows who wants/Bat asks/Bat gets//
A croaking chuckle comes from the darkness beneath the Bat’s cowl, then turns quickly into a rasping cough. The brass wings shudder, scratching more lines into the chimney stack. Pale mortar falls like snow. Like ash.
///Colours take// thinks the Bat. //Colours take their payment/Yes/Not food/Not coin/Just Bat/Poor Bat//
The cowled head shakes slowly. More coughing, harsh and dry.
///Colours are Bat// thinks the Bat. //Bat is colours/Nothing between/Not anymore//
Above the chimney stack, above the Bat, something in the energy field seems to turn inside out and slowly bleeds into a translucent purple. Brass wings crackle in response, flaring incandescent sparks from their tips, and the Bat looks up.
///Colours change// thinks the Bat. //Bat must move/Bat must search/Must search for secrets/City secrets/Sky secrets/Colour secrets//
The Bat rises into a hunched, half-bent stance and its wings flare above it. Crackling arcs of energy, searing webs of purple, violet and white, jump from wing-tip to wing-tip and skitter along the brazen vanes.
With a flex of its shoulders that sends a shimmering ripple through the wings of pure power now held above its twisted form, the Bat stalks off through the chimney stacks to hunt for his secrets.