Where new writing finds its voice

Premise, Research, Experiment

Ian Cartland


When Sean Paul is on the car stereo, 
all cyclists look absurd.



Eve took her Walkman
to the Nuclear Tests Museum.

There was a reconstruction
of a desert test site, where she decided

to sit alone in the dust, watch 
the mauve horizon and play ‘We Be Burnin’

but there were these chavs driving 
round and round the dunes 

in gangsta Vauxhall Corsas, endlessly pursued
by younger ones on BMXs.



Once, I set Molloy to the repetitive
beat-driven strains of Bobby Peru.

I did it urgently, to reveal the meaning
but there was just this old, insistent bicycle.