Bobster Blog

I am older now— too careful with words, too skilled at folding pain into politeness. The years have become a tide clock: ebb, work, sleep, r...

Sometimes I walk past the station just to watch departures. I imagine you somewhere coastal, hair salted, voice roughened by distance. I’ve ...

The screen sleeps in my palm, a small, indifferent moon. Three dots bloom, then vanish— a tide that forgets to come in. I scroll through the...

The room smells of chamomile and damp wool. Outside, autumn is chewing through the trees again. I tell her it’s fine, really—that the underw...

A sign above the booth flickers: FOR ERRORS OF LOGIC, DESIRE, AND IMITATION. Inside, the priest is metal— voice modulated to sound merciful,...

I held the page as though it were shame, contained in metre, measured in its breath, each syllable obedient to name the old inheritance of l...

A universe rests on the wrist of night, no larger than a bead threaded by time’s thin wire.   It clinks softly against its neighbours— a clu...

In the cathedral of damp earth I stretch my fingers, groping, following the dark’s slow music.   Stone is my scripture, worms my witnesses. ...

Cradled in the ancient murmur, we are archives of fire: helixes folded as choirs, each base a note, each spiral a score composed in the sile...

It squats there, a stubborn, chrome-bellied thing— water pooled in its gut, silent, sulking.   I press the switch, red eye glaring back, but...

Terrence the tortoise would sigh, “I’m slow as the clouds drifting by. The rabbits all race, The swallows all chase, While I only plod, step...

A poet set out to contrive, A limerick lively, alive. He started off neat, With a clever light beat, Then—oh, bother, he lost it. A poet who...

The Ministry owns every syllable. The fountain sings freely, water speaking for us. A brass meter ticks on my throat, a clock wound too tigh...

I chased the shadow I once cast the way you look for keys— checking old rooms, turning cushions, peering under the bed of years.   But the t...

My chair is old, a ragged sight, Its stuffing spills to left and right, The fabric’s torn, the woodwork groans, It’s weathered crumbs and mi...

// initialise body → if heartbeat == true, proceed // else: wait 1. Waking Try not to panic. The light will hurt. So will gravity, noise, th...

Each night the house smooths its skin. Cracked plaster seals, paint blushes fresh, floorboards remember how not to groan.   In the kitchen, ...

To the house with the yellow door we never lived in, the city I passed by, the stranger I almost loved. To the painting left in my head, str...

There was a young man in a hat, Who fell quite in love with the Moon; He courted her nightly with howls in the night, And serenades played o...

We borrowed the stars— calcium for our teeth, iron for our blood, carbon laced in each breath we press against the dark. We walk, brittle an...