by | Poetry

You’re in my fingers and I can’t get you out;
I can smell you. Warm & wet & dreaming – every time I push a key,
you come curling out
smoke in good light given
form – not human, something else; an angel,
if I believed in angels; a devil
if I could believe sin had rewards; a muse
with more talent than I;

– I don’t need this; I’m okay, I’m
alright; the scabs running up my arm
tell me I’m okay now –

hands, paralysed, locking up, running
out of letters that aren’t your name; all words given
up the ghost for endless silence but my
bargains – desperate one-sided negotiations driven
largely, by candlelight & whiskey & pills;

                     I’d burn everything I’ve wrote –
                           delete every picture that graces my phone –
                           unfrown every frown I’ve frowned –
                           unsmile every smile I’ve smiled –
                           tear the abandoned paintings from the shadows of my wardrobes –
                           erase every drawing & dream –
                           smash each record that made my youth bearable –
                           forget every drink that made me smart & sarcastic –

just for a few seconds of your lips
or your fingers
gently gracing

Free eBooks

modern poetry

Swearing in Italian

I spend my days wrestling with angels,
gripping and grappling…


Sometimes, we kneel in the shower with the pressure
and the heat turned up as high as they can go…


The mirror haunts me and turns my words to air, my love to grey light that starves, burns, screams beneath red-hot fluorescence. Madonna; can I pretend to love and know these love poems in my rotten pancreas? Can I pretend that this sudden obsession has the merest...


I can’t get the camera to focus. All the streetlights are stretched from Heaven to Hell; they make it impossible to see. The sky pants to itself, desperate, behind the yellow flowers, starved, and crucified on the grass, thirsty, beneath the splintered lights, waiting...