Colin Campbell Robinson

 

Noir

 

The inferno of the living is not something that will be; if there is one, it is what is already here.

Italo Calvino. ‘Invisible Cities’.

 

 

The proof is in the text.

He manipulates keys.

They hold plastic close, electronic skipping.

 

– Message me sometime.

 

She said thanks and left the rest to his imagination.

He was in the ether, didn’t really exist at all.

 

 

– I didn’t get it.

– I sent it.

– You can’t read it?

– Delete.

– Are you sure?

– Deleted.

 


No one has time.

It is written or is it?

 

Few words come down the line.

 

– I imagine you languishing.

– How could you?

She slaps down her receiver, breaks into tears.

 

Everything happens including…

 

The text is another message. Meaning in the touch.

We connect.

 

– I’ve known you for how long

– 3,250 seconds to be exact

Long as…

Long as…

Longing.

 

 

She sent pictures of herself. They are stimulating.

The world is stimulating. The world is pornographic.

Paint it black, he says to girls in coloured clothes.

 

She says, come unto me or was it onto me?

 

You’ll be surprised to know this is fiction.

 

She reads his text, smiles, holds her head in her hands.

 

Spying, he’d call it spying.

She says she’s keeping abreast of current trends.

 

There will be change. I know what I know, can’t hide. She came down the line like a spider.

Networking, she called it, work-grouping.

 

This is a party line. Hold on for connection.

Your party is busy.

 

– Ring me on my work phone but whisper.

 

He’s making it up.  She makes up with one hand on the wheel and free.

 

 

Dart about like a moth. Death will soon come.

And he came quick as a genie offering sad wishes.

 

Have to keep it brief. No one has time.

Single-minded love to be loved.

She looks in many directions but there’s no diamond on the horizon.

 

Metal days, steely and iron-filled.

Gold feeds her fever.


Her fingers move faster.

She sends messages of empty expectation

like a heart scavenger.

 

Death comes all over her like a youthful lover.

 

 

Colin Campbell Robinson is an Australian artist currently living and working in the Celtic extremity of West Penwith. He has had his work performed and published in a variety of venues both in
Australia and Europe.

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Last day to vote for our May Pick of the Month

Today is the last day of voting for our May 2015 Pick of the Month.

The shortlist is

*Kyle Cooper ‘The Flying Monk’ (poem)
*Rushaa Louise Hamid ‘Another Canaan’ (poem)
*Rupert Loydell ‘Black Holes & Other Inconsistencies’ (poem)
*Rhona Fraser Millar ‘A tiny pot of Devon custard’ (flash fiction)
*Wendy Pratt on ‘Letting Go’ by Angela Topping (review)
*Colin Campbell Robinson ‘Noir’ (word & image)

VOTING HAS NOW CLOSED.

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