Bric-a-brac tumbled, jumbled, across the shelves, scattered in dusty glass cases: broaches, pins, postcards and teacups, shoes, letter openers and model trains, infested with age, idleness and the odd ear wig, next to the closet of death - an under the stairs space with screaming stags and boars pinned to the walls; too many squirrels … Continue reading Taxidermy

Hanging Moon

Sometimes I wonder which would be better: death or insomnia?   Because I cannot withstand the in-between. Cold nights tumbling in and out of dreams. Dreams of dying, dreams of living, dreams of running toward a hanging moon; taking the rope from around its pale withering neck and binding my wrists to the ground.   … Continue reading Hanging Moon


What do you say when a twelve-year-old asks you if we're dying? Three doors presented themselves. The first stately and indifferent, through which I'd feign disinterest and parade my selective hearing. The second scientific and nonchalant, which promises a cocktail of truth without feeling, shaken not reassured. The final, pulses red and glows pink like … Continue reading 8:40


Minutes pass in seconds, A door opens "You're up early?" "She's died." A phrase, a fact. I rise whilst you sleep Cold, calm and soon to be collected.  Withered and wrinkled, yet Wit blossomed in the corner of your smile, Kindness bloomed rosy red in your cheeks, The sun rises, Whilst you sleep. The clouds … Continue reading V