Claire Crowther

All you men crouching by a nine-carriage train that’s stopped sauntering through the countryside, I know you dream that what you’ve made will move again. I know why you stay stooping

over cream and maroon livery when stock rolls out of Gorpeton Blymee. You are checking lost detail. You’ll remake exactly what you’ve made. Your trains are guarding,

circling, what was...

Let them call her a wicked old woman! She knew she was no such thing.

Vita Sackville-West, All Passion Spent

It isn’t New Year yet so Happy What? Till then, it’s Boxing Day every morning. Empty bags hang off the radiators. Chilly: hot...