Penny Goring

Fact and Fiction





UNDONE – story-U-scroll – for Jackson n Caden’s Scroll/ƒault issue 4





Ornamental Onion



34 chairs for ded ppl


julie was a darkling.

i don’t know how or


tara the weight of flowers.

john is an angel.

simon was a junky.

mick was my junky.

spit drowned

in soho.

prudence was

my shadow.

eve very pretty




thing 1 bled glass.

sara the curse.

auntie pat jumped

under train.

kelly went wrong right wrong.

tom armageddon


adee ugly liver lost.

milly natural causes.

christian in snow


uncle fred the plague.

steven long drop.

alex blod clot.

fiona colostomy coma.

lizzy car crash.

donkey on flaming


stan the uv rays.

zeno fell to pieces.

wobble darlin sleep


billy is a moonbeam.

una the weight of intrigue.

denny alone in gutter.

alice vomit.

samantha complications of the


jacques is dead inside.

tracey is doing life.

i die every day

i die every day

i die every day


you can see all 34 chairs on newhive



moremore manifesto


and we meet in a doorway at a party

and we do flirting like we mean it cuz we do

and u super drugg feel me

and we are super drugg photoready in basic photoreal

in my house in your alley in the tunnel under the bedroom with the zoo

where fucking is the only viable activity

where you have to think fast with both your other hands

the hands of a suicidal fucker

theatrical in corners

smell of vomit in the hallway

our joke bodies

back n forth with the poxy poetry

and we raise our own ghosts

in our own ghost house

semi-detached annexe in a lay-by

cold shoulder cottage in the cotswolds

pre-fab cow shed in the highlands

this illness in me when it could be you

decide then construct a scenario

stuff words in it.

i’m the tongue on roses.

it’s like what it is. it’s an arsehole.

tongue me face down from incisor to molar

whispering your

accent. swallow. you say: stuff.

out your throat, 10 men.

you a modernist housing scheme. in your lift it stinks of piss.

hand to mouth and up. get out at 21st Century.

i smoke a ciggy, piss a puddle, turns into golden lake.

yeah, cuz i is a garden city and you is a sink estate.

outside on your balcony with

them shitty pigeons you keep, i lean over the edge, lift my arms.

i’m the figurehead of fucking. see the slow burning of south london.

i’m begging here. your mouth.

all the fingers. spread on stone.

i’m a room with the lights out now.

you be the shut front door.


on Zoomoozophone Review issue 1

girls in white dresses

my work featured on juliet escoria’s GIWD





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