“I would imagine death as a cellar full of paintings”

Landscapes. Portraits.  Canvas dripping watercolour or squirming in acrylic. Paper pores closing their mouths as the smell of life turned cold permeates the room.  Paper pores squeezing their eyes shut tight to the darkness. Colours greying with the damp running in rivulets down the walls and they breathe - collapsed lungs beneath wrinkled skin.  Landscapes. … Continue reading “I would imagine death as a cellar full of paintings”

Crude Vellum

There are too many empty spaces. Desert stretches of things we ought to know; movements and people and crimes we should have learnt as well as Wordsworth’s daffodils  or the world wars in Europe.    We are accompanied in our centric - lonely in our fight against all things ‘not right’.  And our British tongues  … Continue reading Crude Vellum


Let’s burn ourselves beneath the stars, peel away the layers of sore skin until we are nothing but dust - cold, unfeeling light intertwined like struck matches torn at the edges by the fire between us, between our lips, between my thighs, love me and extinguish me, wrap your arms around my wilderness and free … Continue reading Sunburn


This is a sweetness  I forget I am allowed.    Blue smoke shivering  in the late May evening sun, and you, a silhouette  against the trees and fields.    Dusk’s dying heat playing upon the music of your lips, a mouth open to taste  my summertime skin:   fears melting into my pores, shimmering gold … Continue reading Cherry