every grain is a mary oliver poem if you make such short work o… if you ricochet, somehow sillier, always softer. the wilful amnesia of this writer makes time metaboli…

for the twenty-sixth time, i have kept my appointment with the wicker man. i have set alight an effigy of the before and began anew; sifting through the charred remains and pocketing wh...

you don’t realise what you’ve carr… way until you set it down on the f… of an emergency room, the pink clo… everything is illuminated white. you took on water because you neve…

we can try each other on, like sho… round the heels, loose-laced, then… we could melt like peppermints– he… single hiccup, a gulp, and forgott… we wouldn’t even flirt with tenure…

you look at me like maybe i’m magi… and now i’m unafraid of feeling fu… your sitting room– that suntrap of… nonchalance and breakfast spreads… bugbear that comes unstuck the sec…

i calculate my words before they f… out, trying not to be too much or… little. i long to be memorable, sm… hints nestled in my syllables like… paint me in the brightest shades,…

you are all edges and elbows; wood… corners, splinter in my fingertip.… am out of season, catching yesterd… like a child with insects, ignoran… their inevitable escape through cr…

moon vines snap shut, strawberry s… the fruit. you take the penrose st… wonderland, spiralling like a frac… circling the hamlet behind my eyes on splintered clock-hands. time, i…

i left my head at the threshold; o… dose and i’m evicted from earth, l… eavesdrop from a time—worn liminal… the placenames replaced by grooved… the paths overgrown with locked be…

i wonder where the forgotten words… in corked bottles, on shelves. att… find an ending while i tie yesterd… afternoon to the tail end of grann… tiffin recipe– no sultanas, just

your thoughts walk six steps ahead… you move among them, keeping their… searching for signs; twitches in s… fingers which sketch faceless imag… freckled cheekbones for patterns w…

shatter the hourglass. there are more stars in the sky than there is sand on the beaches anyway. i’m not pitching mile-markers. just leaning into reverie. the ticking over of the hand i...

nearly a year since those tentativ… settling into new shoes, tying the… our heels nestling in nicely to br… habits like old haunts. intending… last, until the last. we’ll re-sol…

my mind lies miles down, weighted… azure seabed of jettisoned bluepri… it’s strange what swims through to… like how you slept with the curtai… always. the ochre eye of midnight…

SOLID {the wire wool} façade of safety at first brush. a… face on certain devastation. shrap… piques my skin like iron rain. fra…