i have
locked myself
into a cocoon.
a shell, a
crescent moon.
wind
is battering
against the
walls, shelling
seeds into husks.
the day feels
long and this
song will
have to wait
until the sun
comes. till it
enters the
cracks
in wood
and skin and
allows me
to imagine
again how it feels
to be human.

i want to crawl
out of my skin
air my blood vessels,
calm their restless
nerves, drinking only
makes it worse
i choose to merge
muscles with elements
hot to cold,
snow covered
organs breathing
on their own,
and when i
put them back in
the blood beats
differently,
on the bus rides & in
the traffic jams
i smell tree pines,
fells, mountains

i don't know you,
you slip down a street,
peruse a café window
looking for something
to eat, the inner
stirrings of your soul
a mystery to me & it's
funny because with time
I could love you, but as
of now you are like
any other undiscovered
book sat on a shelf
collecting dust, i blink
& you're gone, my
favourite read lost in a
sea of bodies; millions
of stories bleeding down
streets that i will never
meet.

Determined
          to leave
she gathered
up her
things, keys
& a coat, a
quick note
    explaining
why she had
          to go,
but the 
finality of the
scene gave
       the bleak
view a
different hue,
         the sun
through
glass shone
brighter, the
               sky
appeared
several
        shades
lighter, the
once
      silent
      meadows
called out in
       unison
to be walked
           upon,
the
    flowers
whispered
   to her to
        hold on.

there's a boat
     moored on
an
empty shore,
too
                old to
be
cared for
              like these
bones
             bought &
sold many
              times
before,
worked
into a fine grind,
a pestel
                & mortar
kind where
souls
          are traded
for
pennies
over time, halved
now
              like a lime,
stripped of
what made
them
                      shine.

A tv on mute
     while anger
forms over
another dispute,
          one more
thing to discuss,
     another coat
to wear despite
         the red hot
  sun & what's
the cost,
somewhere
       remote a
skeleton is
pining for a
hide
while we draw
borders along
arbitrary lines
& a world is
  carved up into
yours & mine,
a territory of
land, sea,
portion of sky,
an enemy
lurking as
         wolves
outside,
I go to look
           but no,
soon though.

The cold comes in,
ricochets like a
tennis ball
off every
corner, crevice
pore, stormy
gusts of wind
I breathe in,
skin is no
barrier I am
the elements
carrier, organs
coastal &
lungs tidal sea,
I am nature
& nature is me.

You peel
back the
        skin
& we are
the same,
hearts
     beating
beneath flesh,
       organs
translucent
as scaly fish
beneath the
        surface
of a lake,
life clearer
now judged
by the
weight of
        a soul,
almond
shaped versus
deep bowl
too heavy
          to hold,
things obscure
before stand
        clear as
stars pressed
         against
the night sky,
as your red
twisted veins
hand
in hand with
           mine.

When I was small
I walked on fairy dust and
my dreams were as tall
as skyscrapers towering
above the universe
inside of me, was the galaxy.
I was born of the cosmos,
full of light and love
passionate in my quest to
give this to others.
But as I grew my star began to fade,
stars need love and light to survive
and deprived of both my blazing fire
transformed into weak candlelight.
At school I had learnt it was easier
to hide your light
than to stand out as different
and be extinguished in an instant.
So I kept myself to myself
at the back of the class,
knowing the answers but not
shouting them out.
I daydreamed, and doodled
stars on the corners
of my books, all the while
I could hear the universe
calling out to me to trust,
that we are all born of this
cosmic stardust.

I watch freedom dangling on a fishing hook
from a rusty nail outside my door.
Swinging to and fro it calls to me
in a tantalising tone
to take a piece.
To savour the sweet nectar it hides within
but I slip right past
because I've already eaten.
You see I've heard freedom is an acquired taste,
it's something you have to really want
and many just waste.
Although I crave it deep within my soul,
the taste is not worth the toll
and the gruel I get is fine enough,
I could last a lifetime on this stuff.

today a dark 
sky is
   wrapping
itself around
my town,
squeezing
    all that
surrounds
in its strong
muscular
   hands, one
solitary crow
    manages
to slip free,
flies over
highways,
      streets
& trees,
I watch it
enviously as
it disappears
thinking
what I
would do
      for a pair
    of wings

they    were      not      
     someone      you  
could        lust    over,  
they    were     fey,      
blood       not    running
   the     usual     way,  
they     made     me      
   dream    of    streams  
touched    by  moon
beams,    ice     cold    
  fields  at       dawn,      
every     season    I      
have    ever      known
breathing      within
    their     bones;    
dark      woods      were  
organs   once     stood;    
    each      touch    a    
   crunch      underfoot      
revealing   another        
layer  so       deep,      you    
doubt   you     will 
   ever      reach     the    
heart       of      its    beat.

My      demons  
   have     grown  
plump  over  
  these    long  
winter   months,  
  feasting  off    
cold      blood  
making    me  
crave     the  
warm   spring  
sun,     green   
meadows   of  
small   yellow     
buds     peaking 
  above    Earth;  
any     small    
    sign     of  
rebirth   in  me  
&    also   
      out      there

If I seem distant it's
because I am.
I abandon this city
like rain down gutters
trying to get back
to a home, a field, a shore,
no traffic, no smoke
where air is pure
& lungs breathe deep,
in a rhythm
untarnished by
tarmac & brick;
modernity's grip
that looks for life
& buries it, forgets
Earth has a pulse
a heart that beats
beneath us.

there was a
dream here
once,
it came in
        via the
rain,
fed crops,
     livestock, us,
but at dawn it
had gone,
    taken the
bus to
somewhere
it could belong,
somewhere
         made of
sturdier stuff.
I imagine
     it rolling itself
up into
             the dust,
         coating the
backs of tongues,
speaking a
        language so
different to my
own, I imagine
it finally feels
like home.

I wonder if God
    sees our numbered
breaths, how many
     have been & how
many are left,
millions of digits
    shifting above
our heads;
the old woman
 on the park bench
        with just 500 left. 
The jogger with 100
   between now &
        tonight when he
will exhale
     for a final time.
I should scale mountains,
         stare at the sun
  make my amount
  count, every last one.

rain continues to fall
on and on window
battered like a steel
drum and you don't
get used to it there's
something unsettling
about rain that runs
for days makes you
wonder about the state
of the oceans
are they still full or
has all the water gone,
congregated here on
our lips and skin so
much coming in my
gut is full to the brim,
i cough and it's a horror
movie; schools of krill,
seagrass, algae.

from this
vantage point
the world is
smaller than
we previously
thought, birds fly
alongside us,
cars that roared
before are
silenced,
we swim
in a sea of blue, 
a view that 
sharpens what
we already knew;
that this world is
beautiful,
a feeling that if
bottled
would be taken
in the traffic
jams & hospitals
& we would
see the Earth as a
speck of dust
floating
through a
Galaxy
much bigger
than us

as a child the
woods
at dusk seemed
to have a way of
snaking
past five, six,
seven, eight
o'clock
    & despite
the stomachs hollow
ache we stayed
   safe inside
barbed
wire & wet moss
filled with
     days old raindrops
but every
good thing stops,  
it happened
      slowly,
the world coaxed
me, I turned
        round &
noticed the
stirrings
     of a town, your
hair
yellow as husks
     against a
wall of
slate & rocks
slipped

out of

focus.

Ahead of
     this present
moment is a
void, no
        name, no
detail
beyond what
our
imaginations
    can impose, its
    bedrock not
made
of stone but
       sand, if it
were a
wood we would
           warn
children to
   avoid it, yet we
follow its fire, it's
        flames reaching
higher
     & higher,
        seducing us with
their power,
       all the things
that might be,
         glittering
then
  disappearing

If her childlike
  self was to see
her now what
would
         she think
would
       the shock
freeze
her heart to a
still beat make
her turn & run
       back to the
dream, the
encounter
      shattering
her
     at the seams
as if
   they were two
elements that
could
not exist together
separated by age
      & heartache,
         everything
that had
  changed, blood,
        brain, dna
or would they
embrace,
     reconnect,
      vow to start
again

a scientist on the radio
says in three decades  
a coastal town will      
be submerged in water.  
i picture seaside resorts
& promenades absorbed
& know the same fate
awaits this city, as sea
hungrily consumes
coast it looks to us,
our bones, our docks
& ports, parliaments
& courts, our isle added
to a pile of things extinct.
a future where children are
driftwood blown ashore
with foreign tongues
& dreams of sea;
reluctantly coming up
for air jealous of all the
creatures that get to
stay down there.

there was a
          house we
didn't visit,
no detail
           beyond
four walls
           & a door,
we looked for
a map
       but were
forced to
         resort to
our own
      crevices
& pores,
      subconscious
grid works
              so dimly
lit we vowed to
         clear the
mist,
keep on riding
           through its
endless
abyss.

they say it
disappeared
years ago,
replaced
by steel, brick,
black tar roads
& yet
adrenaline still
flows
beneath the
surface of skin,
prey prepares
for a war it cannot
win &
I can't decide
if it was harder
then or now,
if the girl
fixing her hair
in the mirror
is a predator
or friend I'd
invite to
dinner.

I was born with
an armour or
so I thought,
a shield against
the incoming
storm, but
the veneer
wore thin
& over time
the sea crept in,
now there
is no blank state
when I wake,
a dark sky
occupies my
mind that
I taste on my
lips, wars,
taxes, too many
deaths.

There is a world
beyond the
one
seen on
television screens,
outside the realm
of suicides &
wall to wall 
crimes
where
flocks of
birds are migrating
South in search
of sun &
deer run
across forests
not yet discovered
by anyone  
& though I may
not see it daily it is
this distant world
that saves
me.

My nails are a mess,
but not a mess like a 2 week perfect manicure 'mess',
a mess like chipped old blue nail varnish
where I have picked away at it.
A mess like peeling skin
when anxiety from deep within
has resulted in me absentmindedly scratching
until I am awoken by crimson blood,
pooling on pale flesh.
I grab a cloth and sigh,
as I realise I will now have to hide
my hands from onlookers,
who will probably tut disprovingly
because I'm a girl you see,
and it's my duty to present myself beautifully.
To be perfect on the outside, but how can that be?
You see my hands bear the scars that are inside of me.
You can't just paint over scars and expect to be free.

there are
names we
do not say,  
they form
pockets,
places the
rain has to
move to
get around.
a note that
when struck
is as
resonant
as the wolf,
whose howl
breaks the
sea, carves
the name
through
you & me.

Sometimes I
  pray for dawn,
    for this city
     to wake up
      & release a
   cacophony of
noise, for
engines to start
   & kettles to boil,
    for workers to
     drill huge holes
    in dirt roads,
anything but this 
   silent abyss
     that makes me
   want to flee
 mid sleep,
steal a car;
 ignite a spark
    in a never
        ending dark

It's a reference
point, one where
people fall in love,
get married, have
children of their
own, a cycle so
known it's as if
its seed has been
sewn into our
souls, a seed that
is reluctantly teased
in me like a fly in the
background that 
inches further away;
small leaps at first
then bigger over  
streets, cities, countries, 
I shout to it but no

reflectively i
      opened &
closed
                regularly,
i was
petals blushed
        in the
height of
summer & a
           frostbitten
bud
in the throes of
winter, except this
                year
   the sky not
grey brought
a heat everyone
              could feel 
except me,
i waited
for an
          opening that
didn't come,
                  a flower
refusing to yield
to sun,
                limbs
staying firmly
crossed, lost in a
place where
             nothing
warm survives
for long.

With a
thin sheet
of skin we cover
each limb,
bury
the heart
beneath flesh
& hope for
the best,
but the cracks
still come, air finding
its way in via
eardrums,
lungs, 
then finally
a soul & you know
when you see
them, more
paper
than
people, you
look in their eyes
& don't see hopes
& dreams but
city streets,
industrial
skylines,
no sign of sun
coming over the
horizon.

My past lies
  like a deep
    still lake,
a record of
all my mistakes
swimming
  within its soul
& I want to burn
them all, but
   how do you
take a flame to
water?
it just stays,
    forms ripples,
sometimes small,
    sometimes
biblical, all I can
   do is wait for
drought, for
  clouds to move
& sun to come
    out; the day
I will wake
   & not see a lake
but a clean slate

I want to be alone,
to sit between the
concave hollows of my bones,
nestle beneath folds of skin,
shut my eyes and
make the world go dim,
just me and a pulse,
a heartrate pumping blood
and when I open them
it's not the floodlit streets,
wars, fires or anger I see
but the trees and fields;
the peace i wear like a glove,
vowing not to take it off the
minute things get tough.

This rain is torrential,
an endless purge
from Heaven,
no warning of its coming,
no clouds breaking
over the horizon
it is sudden & we are
no longer people,
  but fish swimming
in a vast ocean.
We wonder what we did
  to deserve this
as roads twist into rivers  
& we sink to our knees
  praying for it to ease.
Days pass then weeks,
  money floats along streams
& we shed clothes & phones,
  forgetting we were once
professionals with important
roles, in this fishbowl
we glimpse each others soul.

You came 
  into my
life like rain
  & left as
quickly as 
tides
  can change
now I can't see
  a rainbow 
painted across
  the sky in
red, yellow,
green,
  blue, indigo
& violet 
  without
  picturing
your
eyes &
wondering
  why

I exist in a
modern
       fortress
of houses &
    cars, stores
around the
corner to buy
      anything
I want &
       the sea
& dark trees
remain
mysteries,
   peripheral
things only
    experienced
in
           dreams
passing
     ships that
sail in to
erase names
& obligations,
      stretch weak
             lungs to
breaking,
reprogramming
genes to flee, 
to tease out the 
         wild seed
    from my
ancestors tree
& in the absence
of jungle
     ignite a fire
from
bits of wire,
     from you
& me
& our ancient
      heartbeat

Early hours; the
parts of sleep
     recalled;
          a fly opening
        it's silk cocoon,
   a foetus moving
in a jelly womb,
   irises and corneas
         assembling into eyes
                    eager to explore
                a world outside;
      those first times
when regrets are
               abstract concepts
                             not feelings
                        growing roots
       in subconscious pools;
all the things I'd redo,
              my deepest desire
                              to be anew

I can fix the
time & place,
narrow it
down to a
precise date
& I could accept
a replica, but
this was remote, a
pulse is
found & yet
a glitch betrays it;
a memory of a
house, a record
playing on
repeat, a young girl
dancing at the
top of a street.

if a forensic
          scientist
fresh from
a crime scene
          were to
investigate
our woods
         & forests
would they
find blood
spattered
         patterns  
scattered over
chestnut trees
in deepest
      Mississippi,
a crimson
            history,
years of
          brutal toil
embedded in
the soil,
where children
played only
             the day
before,
perhaps if we
      all could see
we might tread
a little differently,
         investigate
our own hearts
meticulously

a stir of wings,
engines competing for air,
you are there but not,
a difference of perspective,
of machine, oil and steel
encasing wool and skin,
a mind reliving something,
running then returning,
raising a dial higher, lower,
trying to find a frequency
that takes into its thrum
nothing, no one.

we think we love,
think we
stand upon
sturdy stuff,
think the rolling
seas don't come
for us,
we're young,
we're never
gonna grow
up, the tombstones
roll in hills the
world over,
but we kid ourselves
in our beds,
in our heads,
we curl back the
skies,
shift the covers,
shut our eyes,
ignore the cries.

I wish my
lips could
be sewn
shut with
a blood red
needle &
thread,
a visible
display
of how I
feel on my
worst of days
when I
want to
lock myself
away,
when words
are strangers
exchanging
kisses across
lips & hearts
are graveyards
burying
broken
promises.

She
didn't cry
& yet
I was wet,
water
teased from
evaporated
steam
stirring in
deep wells
of stoic
eyes
dreaming
of a
sunrise,
just one day
she thinks
when she
will not wake
with the salt
of the sea
lapping
against
her lids.

I remember
        the rain, the
way it
       fell in
waves I
             tried to
cling to, press my
           lips into
its deep blue
as if that
           might make
things new but it
went on
           undisturbed
in
its path
towards Earth,
           a mystery
concealed
inside
         every drop
that
I was powerless
       to stop.

Overnight
    a storm
has moved
 into this city,
phone wires
      dangle
precariously,
houses are
defenceless
     against
sea, held
together with
bits of wood
& string like
our fragile
bodies,
covered only
by a thin
layer of skin,
        pushed
to survive by
forces outside,
to reconnect
       with the
wild, not
       found in
books but
hearts, bones,
blood,
  biological
   instincts we
once
  understood.

This is my family
splayed out like a fox
caught in the headlights of a
passing car, all brown fur
& wandering teeth,
dried up & tossed on a lonely street.
Left behind unaware of
the wreckage caused,
the family bereft of a sister
 & daughter so loved.
That's what I see from the clouds,
from my imagined suicide.
I see a lost family
trying not to stare at a
huge empty chair.
A Christmas table now a shadow,
not a celebration but a day to fear
& that stops any thoughts I
might have about trying to
disappear.