Morts Anglais

Over the Seine, life plays out its fullest – we’re all exhausted, dirty & no refreshment in the stolen rain before the sky cracked with summer again & complain of French expression;Their passion makes us sterileWhile I contemplate suicide, again, wondering if...

Bargain

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...

The Moth

Lit by the dulling drunks, & lonely matches,a moth climbed the shadows;thought of you, thoughts of me, so far away now;How your light came breaking through the me of being me; How soon I became a moth, desperate in your darkness, fleeing only the shapes of things...

Sterling

Terrifying, how much poetry   one can find, if you look      in the right graves.  Ezra show me nightmares needed to understand the beauty of poetry / the soul of verse and I will dream them;under northern clouds, I will dream the rare beauty of a clear night sky...

Coal Carthage

The bars of this cage, tightening nooses now; still Broken britain; legs & fluttering wings beneath scaled metal eyes twitching, humming lenses; glitter and stand resolute! wings blinking in nothing, rust against the wet night despite pleas of rattle-high footsteps ‘cross the cobblestones & the grass & the mud dirt.

The Tudor

Presented without comment, dedicated to memories and dreams. Such a strong vulnerability; like moonlight on the lighter as you try another cigarette, hoping, this time, to burn outin smoke and spittle the pure body of art; My beauties bled from between my lipsmixed...

Poetry

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 –...

Sometimes

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

Prose

Reading Dossie (Dream 13)

‘You know, the trouble with the whole cog in the machine kind of resignation is that it still justifies inactivity or, rather, a kind of distant activity. It suggests that your existence, that your continued servitude, is essential to the operation of all things; that...

Idiolect On The M6 (Dream 11)

Y’know, we started calling him St. Mina, cos’ of his long, morose face which adopted this weighed down, grey kind of look. His shoulders were slumped, like a scholar’s, and his hands moved in a heavy motion, turning the wheel like he was steering a cruise liner down...

Essays & Articles

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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