slips in oh so sneaky, appearing out of nowhere, weaving its agitated fingers through her hair, crawling up slowly from the nape of her...

A biro nib traces over my unknown leg, the message it tries to write is unclear. Bad decisions all around me, the crumb of a chicken...

Blank pages wait for me to fill them with fragments of uncountable words Blank pages wait for my pen to run around them I feel that they...

The image of you being warned and shot by two cops sinks and drowns in my brain; sometimes your ghost baby eyes open, question me - "When...

What you don’t realise, Madame Laurent declares Is that every sixteen-year-old is beautiful. The boys titter, looking around the class. A...

The bird hides inside, tucked inside my ribcage too rotten to present. Bodies twist, limbs flail but I didn’t come. Dark and black and...

Penknife to paradigm Sipping on hot choices flicking through bookshelves of tall tales of painkillers and wolves at the door as if I have...

Out to sea, squalls whip up seahorse waves. On the beach, showers glitter crystal veils in escaped sun rays. Lugworm-casts coil between...

I suppose, it is easy to forget shadows. How they move and feel. Their utter nothingness at the edge of vision. Tendrils ...

(a golden shovel poem after the song “You Are My Sunshine”) Every night before bed, you read “The Kissing Hand” to me. The book with the...