Malcolm Lowry´s Sports Coat-poem by James Walton

Out of the streets of the dead swirling in the gravy of their Day I came into a room of cactus and honey where the memory of you span on an old turntable the colour of hand knitted socks hanging from a clothesline of words and all the while a man at a table cried into his glass of his forsaken inamoratas painted onto a deck of cards laid out in a circle sewn through with dread he turned each one over and there on every crinkled verso a beakless gull with black eyes mouthed Ave Maria catching my sleeve for pity as a full house of errors spilled from my breast pocket where the best secrets are kept Poem by James Walton Drawing by Janne Karlsson Wanna check out more of the Svensk Apache madness? Lookie here: