FIRST KISS
Bone tongue sticking out of grinning knee,
a mouth where it shouldn’t be,
wet and pink like a lizard’s gawp,
a mean mimic of the mouth
that’s screaming into silence
the whole of the playground. Continue reading “3 Poems by Thomas McColl”
NO FESTIVAL’S COMPLETE WITHOUT DRUGS SUPPLIED BY THE FESTIVAL FLY
Even though Proboscis Pete – a.k.a. The Festival Fly – may look like a fly with his small oval calloused face and wrap-around shades, he only ever sits on good shit. Continue reading “NO FESTIVAL’S COMPLETE WITHOUT DRUGS SUPPLIED BY THE FESTIVAL FLY by Thomas McColl”
BURNING HOUSE PRESS 