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  November 2005
volume 3 number 4
-table of contents-
  home   (archived)
  Roger Angle
  Brendan Connell
  Marie Lecrivain & Daniel Gallik
  Kenneth Hickey
  Gene Justice
  Aire Celeste Norell
  Angel Uriel Perales
  Adrian Potter
  Paula Rodriguez
  mailing list
Kenneth Hickey
November 2005



art by lizbeth palma

    Kenneth Hickey is 29 years old. He was born and resides in Cobh, Co. Cork, Ireland.
    After leaving secondary school in 1993, he went to sea for seven years before returning to dry land to pursue a serious writing career (part time of course). Kenneth set up the "Will It Workshop" at the Sirius Art Centre Cork where he regularly reads work in progress. He has also read at the Frank O'Conner festival, as well as performed several short dramatic pieces at various Cork venues including the Cork Arts Theatre.
    Kenneth has also had two rehearsed readings of full length plays by Moving Parts Theatre at Carr's CafĂ©, Paris, France. His video shorts have been screened at the Cork and Foyle Film Festivals. His prose and poetry have been published in the Munster Literature Centre Anthology Southword 6, Aesthetica, Shadow Poetry Quill Magazine, and in the Feel Free Press Anthology Destination Anywhere. His awards included being short-listed for the PJ O'Conner Award in 2003, and the South Tipperary One Act Play Chapbook Awards in 2003 and 2004.




    In the greyness before, when I'm alone with the greyness, and this burning inside, and the time, the time till I see her again, I wait. I wait. Strange images dancing around me my head broken, I can taste her still, and I wait. I wait until that appointed hour, that shitty little second, till I see her. Alone the two of us in the little room, the heavy curtains blocking out the air, just our panting, and we move closer, fumbling, fumbling, pulling button open, losing control of hand and mouth and tongues, and the heavy air, and the heavy air between us. I'm no longer there in that moment, my head is gone, my body moves with it's own precision. I'm in her eyes, all of me in her eyes, as I stare brightly back through tight curls of a blonde head. And then the underneath, drawn from her, no longer looking in her, looking upon her, the soft tenderness where fingers run, looking for an opening, looking for the chance, and it slip, and it wet. Well I can taste her, taste every piece of her, soft sheet beneath me, as I move closer still, the worthless pieces thrown aside, the garment I no longer want, the robe I have no use for. I am with her, and closer, and closer, forgotten those lost grey moments when we were apart, and the burning between me even harsher, and she asks, and I refuse, she asks again and I refuse, simply to play, with her, and then asked again I give in, and crumble, entering and we are joined, one, moving against each other, slowly, slowly, and again I'm in her eyes, no thought, no thinking, no words, no phrases, no sounds, just us, and what we have become. I rub my hand around her soft breast, push my hand against her hard thigh, and move, just us, and we build, create, construct higher and higher, until the tallest building, and then there perched on the highest vantage, the waves come rolling in around me, pulling brick from brick until nothing remains, except crashing hot running sound, and the passing destruction, and in those seconds, it is all gone, all gone, nothing remains but desolation, sweet oblivion, complete abandon, no more touch, no more sight, no more sound, no more taste, nothing left to hear, I no longer exist, and then she comes rushing in again around me, heavy breaths in my ear, and we lie exhausted, softly touching, until bringing each other back to the real world, the world of drinks, and cheese on crackers, small children crying outside the window, I listen to the passing traffic, and listen to her small breaths, and wait for the greyness and burning to return.

copyright 2005 Kenneth Hickey