Poetry

For all the stars in the skies, You remain the sparkling bright— A hidden gem among pearls, dazzling for the watchful eye.

It began with the sun and TristanTzara  and your black hair and progressed to  garter-belts and pierced labia and an obsessive fascination with a mutual dream of perfection  or a clear glint of similar traumas to cling to  for safety.

Internal Combustion in Buckinghamshire The Cowper and Newton Museum is closed so I walk out (passing the Soul Garage) towards a country park where the flooded Ouse glares back and a tape tells me I’m forbidden. In the churchyard there is no reply from the slave-trader who is frowned on by a grim stone mask.…

Just days after placing the book on the shelf I run a finger across the cover and leave a faint wake of darkness.

You tell me to shape sounds with my mouth. I tell you, I have left my tongue behind.

he is an endless incoherent sentence in her body if she questions him words will blur letters will change their position explain to me will be

SINÉAD MACINNES On your whistle-stop tour of the Highlandsand Islands our whispers are saidto be heard by native ears O Dhiadè rinn iad?               Oh God              what have              they done? Aon.One. The Barabhas moor on Lewis is empty. Leòdhas –…

He reached into the darkness for the midnight drink to find the glass empty.

A false dawn awakens us. The right time, when the cloud-facts explain us to each other and absorb the spilled light.