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…