april 2022



…and what of this foreboding

this racing horizon

it is never ours, of course

and yet it is always ours

that sense of the rope snapping

of forever having to cling to edges

the child trying to stay in its womb

the world straining towards freedom

and these eclectic stereotypes

the preachy, spermy ones

that pour their champagned wisdom

into tall, crystal glasses

toasting their own graceless normality

their imprisoned egos

hammering the padded walls

while outside the refugees plead for equity

for a life where the ground

does not suddenly fall away

snapping the horizon in two

where freedom

clinging to its own enormous womb

is not just left to destroy itself…




…I stand at the very edge of night

the conquest has begun

stars brush against my face

and the armies of the infra-red close-in

I scoop handfuls of dying moths from the gutter 

asking myself will it never end

this radiant night that belongs to no-one

this gemstone breath

that I have held ever since I was born

my heart which has always stuttered 

with unconscionable rage

with dictators who weigh souls

who send the unworthy

to stand at the edge of the universe

hands full of dying moths 

unable to flee the invading cohorts

the invisible armies of the infra-red 

for I have now become the threshold

the cavern at the very edge of night

a stone still holding its breath…




…never forget, even with this curious light

just beyond the walls

your blood is your verse

and all verse is an echo of oblivion

a summons to create

a summons to die

to freeze in this eerie wilderness

those soundless ballads

those faceless portraits

forgotten wonders of forgotten words

this pile of frozen thoughts

left just outside the walls

your bones, your armour

this galaxy’s unwanted heart

for when your arms are filled

with this strange iridescence

your eyes will bleed with remorse

cities will fall from your mouth

and the summons

the indictment will have arrived…