00:37 - 00:56

Ian Macartney

photo credit: Ian Macartney

Streetlights, the candled flame 
of urbane pagans, rose to the mingling point 
of lilac cloud, moon-bleached indigo, 

a blackcurrant pitch. The blood-maroon silhouette of trees.
No alchopop-blue human glow – only rain, the bloodstain
of cloud.  My glass panel was seldom seen by the day-drunk eye,

see. Even light pollution hovered
below the darkness negotiating
with its formidable opponent,
the atmosphere. There was a dance.

Ian Macartney is a writer. He has been published in  numerous publications including Icarus, Meanwhile, Little Stone Journal, Ex/Post, The Scotsman, The Guardian, Time and Tide (Arachne Press), The Centenary Collection (Speculative Books) and #UntitledThree (Polygon). @Ian___Macartney