See America burning on a choking smoky white night amid the black light of raging fire
Lockdown is ever so painful, make it end / There’s technology, so many apps to try / great what will happen next, this might extend
Of its own kind,
solo straining wings capturing clear breeze,
no higher nor lower a concept than self.
I looked at my beautiful new wings / but shuddered at my old ones / and all the dust they bring.
I wanted to take this opportunity to introduce my new short-story and poetry collection, Burn The Word.
There are roots I’ve always known which wrap around my arms, holding me deep inside the earth, breathing my breath. … More
After Kaveh Akbar There is this loveable saint: He sees me in fallen down ditches, covered in bracken.
‘How do you accessorise a bomb? I’d probably go for sprinkles instead of nails’
‘Do not look for my body, my wings, to do but what I make of them.’
‘We became as reliant as the ocean to the sky, as vital as the heat at the centre of the earth to the thin stem threading together green leaves.’
‘I wore a flag right down to its first and last threads.’
‘Being an artist means not averting one’s eyes – Akira Kurosawa’
‘Everything belongs to the rich; from your beating soul to your weeping heart, they bought it all many years hence.’
‘On one of the last days I reached out and closed my hand around your rough, scarred thumb.’
‘I look and sometimes see, sometimes read but mostly my eyes slide across your surface, not fully taking in what you’re saying.’