There will be no poetry after the next holocaust the last and total there will be no words no no … No […]
It’s been a mad March on a hair trigger. The brightening days of this month Have been broken with living bombs. … And broken says nothing of the breaking Of […]
Each night this month I’ve dreamed our future … Egg yolks, tea cosies, slow breakfast Calm as the house walls fall outwards Flatpack collapse like in Buster Keaton … Hundreds […]
There has been sun to speak of but nothing like this, this forgotten brilliance. It’s a different world now, whiter, bigger. … Daffodils are crisp sculpted liquids. Yellow and green […]
I had a play with some pages from an old book.
I’m baby poet bird, born into a word nest Palm-cupped, feather-safe, in retreat in a mirror world of dry rain, cotton clouds. … Words are cheep, I play with […]