Quiet, unsentimental — humour and darkness in the same breath. A rhythm that feels overheard. Characters appear like memories, of sadness and joy.
Poems that arrive sideways. A hitman with a conscience he can't quite shake. An ocean that goes further down than anyone meant to. And a three-legged horse who rights wrongs.
The short stuff. Poems that don't announce themselves — they land somewhere off to the side and stay there. Funny until they aren't. The kind you read twice, the second time slower.
Inspector Hector
scratched her head.
No doubt about it,
this guy was dead.
from “Inspector Hector: A Body in the Woods”
Longer, darker, funnier than it has any right to be. A man who's very good at a very bad job, and the small human things that keep getting in the way. Unsentimental — which is exactly what makes it land.
The big one. An adventure that begins at the surface — joyful, bright, full of air — and keeps going down, into somewhere stranger and older than the story first lets on. Written to be heard as much as read: a world built for radio, unfolding in episodes.
Three legs. One mission. Cloppity shouldn't be able to do half of what Cloppity does — and does it anyway. The joyful surface of the whole Buzlee world, with all the depth still humming underneath. For anyone who was ever told they didn't have the legs for it.
Rod rode round
on a three-legged horse
that he called
Cloppity.
from “A Horse Named Cloppity”
Poems, stories, the descent, and whatever Cloppity gets up to next — published as it's written. Free to read, free to follow. Come in for one, stay for the rest.