“Sod the wine, I want to suck on the writing. This man White is an instinctive writer, bloody rare to find one who actually pulls it off, as in still gets a meaning across with concision. Sharp arbitrage of speed and risk, closest thing I can think of to Cicero’s ‘motus continuum animi.’

Probably takes a drink or two to connect like that: he literally paints his senses on the page.”

DBC Pierre (Vernon God Little, Ludmila’s Broken English, Lights Out In Wonderland ... Winner: Booker prize; Whitbread prize; Bollinger Wodehouse Everyman prize; James Joyce Award from the Literary & Historical Society of University College Dublin)





24 April 2015



Consecutive Dreams


fourteen outa the venturi each side
each long in the old money
pretty on the end like target slugs

it was easy but it bled
like ripping feather dusters
by their roots
outa the nostrils
tight cellophane strapped
soft and so fuckin dumb
relieving the choked fuckin

shit it felt good

but how did that evolve from a lizard scale

them pinfeathers up my hooter?


slithered from tennis court to church
reptile nostrils twitch empty
great warriors rip each other to bits

they put their best clothes on

rush like ants
shove each other valiant wadding
and wait for platelets

they do not know anybody

I lick their tiny window

they never seen a lizard like me

Philip White

photo of Tailem Bend church at top by Philip White

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