When the body is dust, the stone you kicked walking the woods after rain ruminating about work won’t lie off the path because it met your shoe. No reasons, no memory. Nothing remembers like we do.
Breath hisses like a burning log. The cracked black wood burns red, smouldering in a deep iron heart. Too much air, it flares and flickers out. Too little, it starves and we get cold ash. But when the grate is open well enough it breathes hot and constant. Sometimes a blister, a spark, a crack. […]
Deceased: Love is not made here. There is no air, nor bread, nor beer. It is doubly dark, which is to say that it has no colour. It is doubly deep, having no need of a beginning. It is doubly quiet, because I can hear myself. You have brought me to a place that does […]
Hello! Guess what? I was shortlisted for the Live Canon International Poetry Competition again. Unfortunately I wasn’t able to get over to Greenwich Theatre to hear the shortlisted poems performed but am chuffed to have my poem published in their new anthology. It’s a response to Robert Frost’s ‘Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening’. […]
Who needs a skull grinning brightly on their desk when an apple core moulders so quickly? There’s no getting away from it. Leaves brown in the gutter. Blue islands form archipelagos in the bread. Walk through the cemetery. See how even gravestones, our markers of impermanence, decay. Then see wild grass rushing up their sides, […]