Wayne Holloway-Smith
speaker
351 appearances
1 recordings
1 series
first heard Jun 2026
last heard 24 Jun
Wayne Holloway-Smith’s voice in public audio — every appearance, attributed to the second.
Trend
recordings per month · last 12 monthsRecordings per month over the last 12 months — 1 in all, peaking in Jun 2026 with 1.
Appearances
and it's here perhaps the rabbit was made and each time made again in the moments before all the shattering what comes next 24 Colebrook Street and the smaller bedroom is all rabbit boy rabbit rubbed over the smell of floor in starched rabbit the ceiling rabbit the duvet cabinet and toys cocked the magazines in quarter open drawers
rabbit on the lamp switch thumbprint of rabbit on the wardrobe door open it you're allowed deep in the clothing stacks to look a tiny place for minutes years perhaps in which he uncomfy sat or out the open window pleaded into a town biting the nighttime rotten singing
King of nervous laughter, touched in the wits, a small body hidden in the wardrobe or else caught too young in the guttural clench of a home's full wind.
A man whose temper is bigger than God hurts.
If you broke your fingers against the hope for something better than this, born into the terrible hosanna of language, then you know my name.
worried little creature shaken in his collarbones rabbit see him back there tiptoeing an all drunk and angry home cement home and cigarettes shovel and litter home with the hard luck it taught itself spilled into brick and plywood into every corner and sideboard in all the terraced places of the here now
see him fistfuls of carpet in the smallest space cramped under the two-seat sofa screwed up tight invisible eyes shut and secret breathing the living room's big threat heated up so hard you could almost hear it crack the leather cushions set to sting a backside hop if there was a backside here to sting there's not
The silence knows there's something on the other side of this.
That ashtray is piling up its cigarette butts and he's collecting an emptiness that hurts for the thing that hurts it.
So enter and keep entering, man-shadow.
Boots off, soused and wholly home from work, dad-shadow.
Looming its coral might over the shut curtains.
The cabinet doors hard ringing the picture frames.
Stay out of the way while it finds its seat.
Fist slamming a thick glass down, full and thirsty.
Temper like a brass band sleeping.
Warming up.
Eyeing your mother.
Flinch.
Her own language is a quiet backing away, careful, careful, to the kitchen.
Showing 61–80 of 351 · page 4 of 18
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