I find you bookish.
No, that’s a compliment.

With pages of skin
using old words,
elsewhere dying
from disuse.

Your conversation perfumed by yellowed pages.
other eyes hold you pallid.
Mistake dryness
for dust.

You fall into my hands
flop over
as I turn you.


I read you Crimson.

My Dark Works

Night’s nothing,

which I walk into the upstairs of
with candles of despair.

The whiling of these spaces
illumines me
in a cosy blanket of black.

My pen hooks and pulls
a little diamond word out.

Come morning,
my sky is peppered with stars.

Darkness Visible

Now that we have
pathologised Despair,
medicalised grief,

and compartmentalised
the edges of normal
to insanity’s domain,

and unpicked agonies,
textures and hues
with easy substitutes
of platitudes and pills.

Can we finally acknowledge
our unwritten goal?

To deprive the poor few
of a fearful descent
to the core, where
a glowing roar erupts.

Invisible Seamstress

What we make of ourselves:

our many pasts,
our many nows,

the mythologising

of our various births,
of living paths,
of multitudinous deaths-

are little truths
woven In half-sleep
by an invisible seamstress.

gently prodding us
towards an understanding
of all we have always been.

A Felt Essence

Pulled earthwards,
its branches drugged,
heavy, thick, sticky with sap.

A stoner whose wrist can’t lift,
Soaking up the wrung out, wet earth.

Suspended over the slow water.
Feeling itself hanging.

Lacy leaves trail the flow:
a sleepy lady’s fingers
kissIng the surface.

Me on the warm grass.
Eyes closed.

The invisible coursing
of blood and thoughts.

The autonomic flow
of an invisible will.

Sea Change

Have you ever tried
at a beach, to stand
at the last of the land,
where the dried-out sand

no longer touched
by the waters edge-
it’s slow retreat
to the horizons ledge,

away from the sea
and looked inland
what’s gone
for what is planned,

from the sunset
until it’s gone
and waited
through night
for your coming dawn.

The Nourisher

Weak (like water), but not weak.
Clear (like water), but not clear.

Pure (like water).
Soft (like mizzled rain).

Necessary (like water).
Life-giving (like water).

Natural (like raindrops on) skin.

you, around you.

Water reflecting water.

Belief (dream)


in the shadowzone.

Always there.

This wee green thing,

in the corner,
in the dark of me.

I project loneliness onto it.

It hums contentedly.
Not patient. Not waiting. But ever there.

And as I approach, I become it, taking over its’ song.

The world lightens.