Moirai

instead of simply grazing
the surface of your breasts in desperation
& could overcome their wild passions
for the logic & mathematics of poetry
or the campaign of ecstasy I execute
as Thanatos delivering your body

Pygmalion

there are those, I discovered late, who were not born
loathing their bodies
whose faces grew from their souls, & were not stamped
upon a skull with little care

Cormorant

on certain nights
when there was no hope
& all the radio stations played
Bela Lugosi’s Dead
on repeat
stretched out the chained drums

Zephyr

it would be nice I think it would be nice
to pretend that all this pain is purely for you
romantic in our fucked up way how fucked we
have always been it comes now to romance
and something like love truth is
I was hurting & hurting myself

Independence

gentle shores teasing infinity are
beautiful but they are not you
I think some part of you
resents that the idea
that I can unearth beauty
independently

Poetry

Writing Verse

Writing Verse

why did it work on you?
never even mentioned it
when you smiled, laughed
at cruel humour –
touched your fingers
to my arm

Loch Earn

Loch Earn

had I known, then? arriving
the breeze come burning
& guiding mighty storms from seas
I knew come shuddering drugs
& clenched the teeth to bite
the sleeping waters

Rouen

Rouen

cigarettes & two words –
le bel! Le bel!
shouted over the water, momentary
madness our bondage
freed in chains, exultation free in
passionate strings;

Sparrows

Sparrows

she watches over
even the sparrows
you said
so why didn’t she watch over me
am I worth less than
the innocence of a bird

Prose

Idiolect On The M6 (Dream 11)

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...

In Gettin’ Paid (Dream 8)

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...

Essays & Articles

What Is A Human?

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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