writing

the way I think (about the way I think)

Rush past the gauze bush blossomyellow on dark like explosive blasts frozenby the shutter, and heatfrom the windscreen, hand on …

Something about butterflies

Always small rooms and square, white places, limited possessions gatheredup, unpacked and packed again every few years. You betsomeone probably …

Drive

Drilling into the barnyard dark, probingout curves like a dentist diggingdown into decay, workingup the other side of the valley, …

Mouth of the Mine

The maw of the old mineshaft reminded meof the stove-in mouthof an end-of-the-line lush,left gaping there glistening by bored kids, …

Scene outside Chelsea Hotel 1970

The fire escapeis a raggedy spiral thing –a rotten tin box of ribs,have to climb it in a half crouch …

Fire

I heave up another lungful of gulped down stars and margarita moon (behind: a guitar plinks and ripples and twangs, …

Water Glass Moth

You cling to my finger like a newborn.The same weight that clogged your engines and draggedyou down to drown now …

Cow

Machines liftyour hulking massweightless, O wingless angel slityou giveand give and give. You area huge and creakingoaken tankof red grape …

ALL GAS NO BRAKES – micro-collection available now basically for free!

I know what you’re thinking. Poetry? What a goddamn snoozefest. You’re not wrong, but you’re in the right place . …

2024

I knew it was wrong but the allure in the starling sky that spring evening was overpowering – the same …

Mother’s Day

You there swan-like, blonde, bowed at the neck knelt drawing in charcoal on the dusty garage floor with great swathes …

Dad Sketch

Great bronze bald head mawning like slow laze lion always tan from endless village loops delivering letters, bills and birthday …

Mad Rush

When all seems hopeless and the wind howls its lonely song and the ocean, once a friend, burns white each …

Old shirt

And here’s my old shirt, blue and green with busted holes two, three, no, four buttons blown away – bounced …

Horses

The leather brands the hands when you’re pleading with the reins atop a rush of boiling black your years thunder …

Apnoea

How many of us are going to slip out of here like oily eggs onto breakfast plate without a whimper, …

I seen hope in a train station

I seen it wink on the wet cold of the tracks I seen it smiling in slices of wheel I …

The last wash

I knew even before I put it on that there would be strict segregation on the clothes horse; it would …

On not getting the job

Beyond disappointment; I saw real fear in the tears of flashes of future cold as hands on bed-warm thighs; of …

Control

I like to imagine it as an idea rumbled in, wrapped around the rungs of a thundering chariot’s wheel, smuggled …