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

A Very Gentle Suicide

She was smoking by the Irwell when she decided to kill herself and I couldn’t stop her. She decided to buy a house in Marsh Green – in that part near the factory where the locals say they’re from Orrell and not Kitt Green, and take their dogs on long, noose-like walks...

For Hannah;

I go looking every morning, for the clearest view; for that clean contrast between the greens and the blues. I go looking on hilltops and riversides, atop tenement buildings and trailing the gutters through the cities and the towns, to the thatched roofs of true,...

Are You Happy?

Whenever I think of happiness, I’m filled with this kind of hopelessness. I can’t think of a single time when I have experienced the joy that I’ve read about – the kind of elation that spits fire through the veins. And that is all I’ve ever wanted. I’m not interested...

Ghost

S; here comes your ghost again through the wall wailing. The scars in the meat of your arm, beneath spectral skin, catch on the iron nails that hold up your art and make you scream and pull away the muscle itself. With scrabbling fingers, hooked claws, puncturing the...

Prose

In Gettin’ Paid (Dream 8)

My leg twitches to its alternating self between a gentle vibration and a violent momentum. I try to hold it still and, for long moments, I succeed, until the cold of the broken boiler forces my body to rebel against me once more. I am sat on a shrink-wrapped plastic...

Saturday Bleedin’ Into Saturnight (Dream 7)

Have you ever done what we did, and taken a drunken walk down Hope Street to capture art in a no cameras allowed zone? Cos’ we caught what we had left there beneath a suspended girder metal roof in aging marketplace with empty stalls amongst the kitchen refurbishments...

Essays & Articles

What Is A Human?

It is downright idiotic of me to try and fight change and, to be honest, I really don’t see the point in it. When I was younger, I was always a fan of change – the idea of evolution sounded incredible to me, like it gave us, as a species, some real purpose, even if I...

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