‘Everything about that time of morning, from the way my eyes work, to the way my limbs move, is just so easy I don’t even consider it.’
Poem: Beyond repose
Time passes differently in the still of the mind. Space and resonance shudder and reverberate and my head drops forward; … More
Poem: I am grown weary
I am grown weary of stock images flashing and flitting across the dark and clear glass of my eye.
Poem: Beyond this place
Graffiti strewn alley walls miss the fingers of hands, on stretched out arms, Just. Dark cobbles glint deep below heavy … More