Monthly Archives: October 2018


A pot of basil on the window-sill A lamp-post bending over a street, not lighting just looking A man blowing cigarette-smoke, eyes narrowing A hand on an ignition-switch A cat playing in sawdust A girl studying her profile on a hand-glass An arm lolling beyond the bed A skirt flipping about the ankle over a […]


I have nothing to do so I take a tram to the city to go for a walk among the shoppers. First down the main street and a man in a kaftan-shirt and dreadlocks is crouched drawing Jesus with chalk on the footpath. It is nearly Christmas, after all. Then, onto the avenue where summer-shorts […]


I pick up a petal from the garden bed; I am not forlorn. Camellia, you should know better than to drop your clothes and show thy true colours. There is this thing we call persona. You are too vain to bother, I am not convinced enough to insist. O Camellia, stop being so aloof; nuances […]


I was becoming totally cynical, indifferent and brittle, angry, disavowed when I sat down to watch Lost in Translation again and went for a walk in the local park back to that movie again and again. I re-read the letters my dad wrote me and now turn again to Frost, still convinced everything is fake […]

2.34 am

Still, a quiet not won by character or craft, too often contrived and insincere fills the violent hour. A respite inside suffering, bricks on the forehead, as stone on loose paper, is like this when the moon looks me in the eye looks me in the mind and says Carry and feel the sag, feel […]


The fondest dream of every little girl is to impress her father’s friends from the old boys’ school You put on your favourite dress edge towards a boyish face pose for a photograph and pretend he’s your first passion


The restless music Unspooling hour upon hour in the home-office The scrolling and scrolling And scrolling some more for the cruellest option The self-doubt chewing at the sanity Bit by bit The torment of the assassin trapped In the prison of his own game Swiping the screen To erase the utter terror of self-disgust * […]


Who would make art out of a rat and what would a rat know of art Who would imagine a rat, even in their rat language, would understand depth and nuances and ironies What would a rat know of heartache What would a rat know of regret The scream of a rat that pierces the […]


There are still in my head some images of you: the glow of your brow beneath the yellow light, thinking, your body openly relaxed to a class of curious eyes, your vigorous elbow moving in front of the white-board as you wrote. Also, your eyes blinking generously at what annoyed you, the innuendoes, acid in […]

awake with night

i shiver under the covers so i get up and put on a jumper the roads are quiet the street light spreads silver across the lawn in chilly october and i have some warm milk hour after hour passes by i read a little Roth and a short story by Chekhov then a poem by […]