THE STRANGE AND PECULIAR HABIT OF RONNIE BARSTOW (excerpt) by Steven Holding.               Upon waking, Ronald would commence each day with a rigorous examination of his feet. Sitting on his bed, legs crossed, one foot sitting comfortably in his lap, he would make a detailed and thorough inspection in-between his toes, carefully evaluating the skins condition. He was, like many, prone to severe bouts of athlete's foot. But rather than taking the necessary precautions require

DESMODONTINAE by Steven Holding. Bites bequeath eternal life, a murderous thirst for kissing a lover and another bitter, better gift. Splintering crunch of bones reconfigured, tightening of leathery skin. Losing sight, hearing what was once seen. Unfolding wings, taking flight. Feasting on faeces, guzzling guano; my acidic quick-witted vampiric quip. I’m… batshit…. crazy!

Weak by Steven Holding. (MON) soon met someone new after weathering another tempestuous, terribly ended affair (TUES) wisely allowed one week’s time for climbing the mount of Venus (WED) ding! alarm sings awakened from another dream of potentially blissful nuptials (THUR) got date, arrived late, they set me straight, we’re just mates… (FRI) end

Marionettes by Steven Holding. They’re carefully constructed. Fashioned from sawdust and sausage skins, inanimate mannequins brought into being through skilful manipulation, each puppet an approximation of the human condition, controlled via the slightest of subtly intimate stimulation. Calling himself master, he spies the strings; ties that bind, not blind. Knowing when the time comes, he’ll cut them.

PLANTPOT by Steven Holding. Sinsemilla seed. Weed, cultivated. Displayed. Precariously left upon a window ledge. Displaced. Flora falls for four floors, granite impact shattering its glazed vase. Passing cop clocks the contraband, picks it up. Later, shaking down a longhair, lawman’s disappointed the beatniks got empty pockets. Hippy’s cuffed. They say it’s his stuff.

PROBOSCIS by Steven Holding. Four, not one, roam the room. Eyesight like three mice. Trunks caressing, each hazard a guess. Bunch of five bananas? A bent baguette? Hairy coconut? Saveloy atop two veg? The pachyderm herd clash; tusks then heads. Realise they’re touching a man. After pulling him to pieces, most probably dead.

A Loaded Magazine by Steven Holding. First (and last) poem published. Yellowed periodical, years old, folded page, prose exposed, curled into a cone (no cornetto, conch nor buglers last call). The purpose of this piss-poor piece of shit? Raging flagellation by page! Battering sense into myself; the only thing it’s fit for, because never read poetry is forever dead poetry.

POP TOP ON PEN NO OPEN NOTE PETE BY Steven Holding. Look in, glassed; no pirate sans patch nor trident wielding cyclops, just another total winker.  Never made up, picking up makeup stick, apply eyeliner (singular), boldly highlighting telescopic monocular orb, emphasising pupil dilation, appearing to peep in one direction. Tis youth once mine that I gaze back upon with fondness.

TOP OF THE BIG TOP by Steven Holding. Three tyres (like circus rings) never appealed, but Bobo’s lot was confetti, pies and clowning about on a trike. Furious with envy, he thumbtacked Marvello’s unicycle during opening night, causing the acrobats plummet; a sixty-foot fall broken by sawdust and dung. Now Marvello’s quadriplegic, its four wheels he favours; Bobo, just the one.

Unlimited Stimming Redux by Steven Holding. Multiple stints in solitary confinement taught him many things, not least how easy a fingerprint could be played, like phonograph upon gramophone, single un-plucked hair on tragus acting as an aural stylus, gripped by the whorls and loops of the friction ridge as his criminal record echoed clearly in ear, scratched then remixed. Such a sensual feast, this festival of self-celebration would become an endless orgy, every lump, bump an

Just When You Thought it Was… by Steven Holding. Summer school junior aquatic gala. A frenzied festival of frantic thrashing infants, hardly swimming, mostly splashing. Armbands half-inflated (another failed breathalyser, nowhere near blood pressure test tight), tiptoes touching the shallow ends tiles, plaster floating past passing dangerously close to eyeline as frightening as a verruca ruined foot. Like piranhas, a whole shoal of nippers converge upon submerged treasure, di

A TOTAL BASTARD by Steven Holding.   Kenny Stamp was staring out of his window when he first saw them.   His cramped bedsit, generously allocated to him by the council and conveniently located in the worst district in town, stood directly opposite a decrepit multi-storey car park that had long been closed. Since pawning his television set, Kenny would often find himself gazing over towards the breeze block monstrosity. He found it slightly more interesting than the slowly exp

HYMN   he is me best frend in the hole wyde world. my bestest frend in the galixy even!   i nevur evur had me one befor. not till i meat hymn. uver kids at scool just be beeting me up and call me them horid names lyke spannur or bumface or shitfourbrayns.   ha! thay ar the reel stoopid ones. i no that four brayns is mutch betur than one!   but hymn not be sayin bad fings lyke that. no way nevur! he dont say not one bad wurd about us.   met hymn in the big forist that grows ri

OPTS TO STOP by Steven Holding. Three. Two. One. And sleep. Sometimes, night brings violent storms. Pulsating veins of lightning licking...

BOOTS AND CATS AND THE TRANSMISSION POWER TOWER by Steven Holding. Brown bottle slips towards dry cracked lips. Andy tips it back,...

GETAWAY CAR by Steven Holding. Her earliest memories were of the junkyard. An acre of untamed thorns, littered with decaying automobiles,...

"I know I believe in nothing but it is my nothing" Richard James Edwards DUB BELL by Steven Holding. POP! This shindig’s almost over....

Which Bitch? by Steven Holding. THEY CONFUSE FALLING WITH FLYING. To choose who confesses, it’s rock, paper, scissors using just the...

"Reality is merely an illusion, albeit a very persistent one." ALBERT EINSTEIN TRICK TIP by Steven Holding. ARTPARTY Invitations...

Peace and love to one and all.   UNDER THE SYCAMORE TREES by Steven Holding.        1….                                                  ...