Upon the Poet, in His 25th Year

Let it be no calmer in your hands; time enough
for the calm, the warmth and the cold in the grove…

Hollowed Out

You hollowed me out and lived in my skin.
When I opened my eyes, it wasn’t me looking out…

On the Bird’s Wings

I find it impossible to write you poetry;
dense, leaden, eyes like mine that strain

After the Parasites Came

I draw my grandfather’s lungs in charcoal spit the fluid in his throat; tremor in art as is the shaking hands when he goes to lift the tea to his lips. Making leaves in old mugs transferred to sipping cups and the brief illumination of the body...

The Grand Western

I don’t remember much of the days we spent together, roaming a water’s edge, watching black summer storms rolling in across the ocean; I remember Guitar Hero was my seduction, like clutching buttons too tightly was a sign of things to come;...

Mesnes Park

How coarse the street-piano’s language appears, how brutish and dumb when spavined hands perform ugly permutations in the air; conjuring that beastly Autumn, right before the rain. Our summers came wet, too; blistering light which made eyes –...

Night Terrors

When Nox and I go panting beneath, we
have asked the same black questions;

She Wore Blue Velvet

The ceiling is covered in paintings, with no theme or substance or style but woman, and they flow down the walls like all of history…

Sometimes

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

The Air Spoke

She places her cigarette on the edge of the desk and watches it smoulder. The sunlight catches the smoke in its hands…

Poetry

The Grand Western

The Grand Western

I don’t remember much of the days we spent together, roaming a water’s edge, watching black summer storms rolling in across the ocean; I remember Guitar Hero was my seduction, like clutching buttons too tightly was a sign of things to come;...

Mesnes Park

Mesnes Park

How coarse the street-piano’s language appears, how brutish and dumb when spavined hands perform ugly permutations in the air; conjuring that beastly Autumn, right before the rain. Our summers came wet, too; blistering light which made eyes –...

Reviews & Poetry Reviews

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Prose

Got Wrong (Dream 16)

Got Wrong (Dream 16)

St. Christopher’s driving a 4by4 down the rattling madness of a mud-baked highway stone sweating pathway and Cain holds him up with Excalibur in one hand and a burlap sack with his brother in the other. Chris and a kid who looks like Jesus help him dump the body in...

Ler’ ‘Em In (Dream 15)

Ler’ ‘Em In (Dream 15)

Dark long subaquarian death like Franco-Irish still birth – cutting fence wire like shaving pubic hair and writhe in foreign riverbeds to avoid the dogs – they climb into Humvees with 50 Cal poetry strapped to the wheels and you can see them sniffing out of the window...

Essays & Articles

9 Authors I Want To Read In 2016!

9 Authors I Want To Read In 2016!

Consuming literature is one of the greatest joys in my life, from self-published, modern authors to the literary classics. Similarly, I like reading a traditional paperback as much as I enjoy more interactive fiction. Fairly hypocritically, I’m not that big a fan of...

5 Books I’m Glad I Read Before I Turned 23

5 Books I’m Glad I Read Before I Turned 23

So, in a very short period of time I’ll be 23. 23. 23 years old. Jesus Christ; even the idea of being that old makes me feel tired. Anyway, as I’m now a man of a certain age, it’s time for me to stop looking forward to the next five or six years I’ve got left on this...

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