Clare Proctor has had poetry in publications including Shooter, The North and Finished Creatures and in anthologies including the...

Ice Cream in Tarantula Country when I lived in a car, my father hid us away across broken tarmac in tarantula country ...

Doing My Bit clean separate glass food some plastic some plastic tins ...

My mind's maze is filled with smoke, each turn a memory to deep-throat at dusk, children turn to coy witches to guide dead dreams up...

You find the place without getting lost, even though it was just off the edge of the map. It is discrete enough, tucked away from the...

These shiny shoes are bleeding Hesitating by the M&S cake aisle (chocolate fudge or 4-pack blueberry muffins?) I had a sensation of...

The Sun Ate Your Smile Turn the tables around, there’s too much shadow. Roses line the window— petals dripping monochrome ash on the...

‘Life and soul, Old Dai,’ they said down in the village. ‘Life and soul.’ Old Dai always said funny things. Funny things like, ‘You know...

Low on ink. Low on pills (pharmaceutical or otherwise). High on resentment towards the way things have been going lately. High on half an...

The trees out the back window aren’t As green as they were Last summer Less lush, more spindly Branches--some broken-- That lean and...