Elegy for Tracey

I A dream in which the women were like Venus made me think of art and you. You’re a botticelli-baby; if I dipped a sheet of paper into your mind, it would come out marbled in oils and water­colour and with bits of moulded clay on the edges....

Unsolicited Advice

Wor­ship where you can lest life become empty earth­en­ware or barren circus rings. For some it’s a world of water­colour mood: search for it, hold it fast if you find it. Where you feel like screaming, do. Sound also can lift into the void and echo...

Midnight; black-tie;b.y.o.

In theory, I can only write like me, but reality is less defined. I do my best not to steal from others, but some influ­ence is obvi­ously inev­it­able. If it could be wished into being, like a genie, I’d have a style that would shout...
reality is for people who can’t handle drugs

reality is for people who can’t handle drugs

easy now time is a fra­gile word betrays its obscurity like a whisper past and future blend into a dream that might come true. life’s a series of phys­ic­al­ities but how to report myself on the missing per­sons list remains...

To Yevgeny Yevtushenko

I Allow me to dis­agree. The first presen­ti­ment is not shame – nothing com­mitted, nothing to be guilty for. The first presen­ti­ment is an unac­count­able loss, a feeling that there is some­thing that was sup­posed to be done some­where,...