poetry | MY TROUBLED MIND

Freedom is a word, nothing more, some vagueness we gather from grainless remastered photographs, from movies, movies, billion dollar movies, …

Words like ‘major’ ‘disaster’ ‘tragedy’ ‘terror’ ‘change’ and ‘death’ leak like oil from the paper in daily doses. I swallow …

I sat safe on shore with you, playing with the silt we watched families blow their last kisses aboard boats …

I wanted to write simply words that made sense, persistent as grime under fingernails, or ingrained as dirt in callouses of …

Trouble followed me effortlessly across the desert three thousand miles, a dirt shag rug lives at my feet, black armies scurry in …

whether or not I’m a good lover. I’m more concerned with whether or not I’m a good friend. I’m more …

‘Would you rather be blind or deaf?’ Deaf, I always answered, definitively. My foot-down certainty sealed the rest away, the white …

I write streams of journals about woe, about life. I decide what is worth sorrow, I say to my sister– …

The procession started, they carved downstream all guts, glory and flags. Ribbons sliced the stillness, an inflatable duck smacked about …

My hands were shaking– I kept a watchful eye on my palms and fingers for fear I might be witness …

I feel him coming through the base of my seat, under my thighs the vibrations spread like disease as darkness holds its …

Unafraid, you off-load your current worries about the fate of your washing-machine. You’re frantic that they may sabotage the smooth …

I thought I’d get a Mcdonalds breakfast. I drank a bit too much whiskey last night and was feeling sorry …

Take it you said, note between your two forefingers crumpled, mauve, still alien after eight months. I know you got …

My truest friend is gone robbed back to Cornish cobbles, back to what I used to think were wide drains …

Phone screen like a drought plain, like a thousand smacked mouths and split lips run in rivers rushing at the …

The car entered the lot moving slowly, its weight worked at the loose stones, tonnes of steel composed by engineers …

A white picket fence half painted, an open own mixed paint pot no label, tin, ringed grooves, copper colour rust …

Sit and think about the year he said and so I did On my back ‘gainst rough plastic and rope …

I’m on your sidewalk, it’s red and bubbling it’s turning like a spit in the heat huge bodies of automobiles …