United Kingdom

Published Work

​The NHS Calls And Asks How I’m Holding Up

My hair has started falling out which in general I find quite funny but maybe that’s just because Beth laughed at me last year when the same thing happened back then when I was on that medication which completely dried out my whole body to a crisp like an old apple core all peely and brown a bit like how my brain feels I guess, that’s funny in a way, although not really, Mum would disagree I suppose, and I really do miss her a lot, Mum, and her playing piano and her not spelling broccoli right ever, on any shopping list, and her buying herself flowers and her dancing and hugging me but anyway as I was saying my hair has started falling out and when I’m in the shower it clogs up all the drains so the man in a hazmat suit has to fix it, rather scary at 2 in the morning but hey ho, that’s uni...


Mothballs of sun tumble in
Soak the floor and my feet in a wet photon sweep
Sweet, violently polleny
Giving the lino hayfever
But I, photovoltaic, vulture-like, thrive
And burn last night’s bitterness in it
And I am
Dragonesque, untranslatable, rolling off the bed and tasting linseed, cork,
As I synthesise my own dialect.
I hold one of your socks to my mouth. It could work as a muzzle- I think you said that once. But I speak into it. When you hold a seashell to your ear, you’ll surely hear my Calliopic voice, breath whistling through teeth.
Caress my own hand, coax myself up
Here, baby, come on, sugar
Birthday cake breakfast, handshake buttressed
By your fennish smell.
I want that which you want.
Show me, tell me:
Wedding gifts,
A brother’s prayer,
Solemn wings,
Bromegrass, roots of ginger,
A single Delphic body- yours, mine, interwoven as twine,
Skin laced with silvery...

Writing Streak Challenge Week 1

Writing Streak Week 1 Day 3

Museum of A Former Life Opens in Local Girl's Bedroom

Falling into the house on the Tuesday,
Outside crumbling, an iceberg of Looking-Forward-Tos melting in the Winter sun,
Holding my back to the door to steady myself against the dawn of collapse, inexistence seeming rife on the horizon.
This room has become a museum of a time Before.

Valentine's card
Ticket stumps
Hair grips in a tin

All redolent of Normalcy, horrifically mundane, innocently dull.

Guest linen
Breath mints
Nice dress
Tennis hat
Bus pass-

I carve a circle into the layer of dust atop my alarm clock. Never to be hit again.

Student ID
Water bottle
Bits of thread torn off a suit jacket
Cotton pads
Bee-sting cream-

Missing the splitting antecedence of early mornings, muddy ankles on the way to school, tachycardia on the train platform.

Each time I enter, I am hit with the taste of a Next Week that never quite happened.