I could not run so I took root, still as a housewife, stagnant. My eyelids went first. Desiccated to tracing paper to sandpaper. You, in your gleaming arrogance, you could never foresee this; that my arms would age to bark, my belly an empty whisky barrel. The feet that failed me trickling in sunlight, toes […]

We blame our bad days on opening umbrellas indoors, magpies and broken mirrors, walking past black cats on pavement cracks under ladders, killing spiders, spilling salt on the table next to new shoes in a size 13. Cold calls from numbers ending in 666 – throwing pennies, picking clovers, blowing candles out, wishing for something […]

Contains strong language A man will drown if held under by his own dead weight or a stranger’s hand, pushing him to the piss-slick tiles. There’s no safety in a closed door, but a man wouldn’t hope for more than he’s given – a body desperate for the air in another’s lungs – take his mouth, […]

Contains strong language. Love is a hairy moth: fickle and fleeting, Not the knight in shining armour I was promised, But a balding man who can’t stop eating, Just a turnip farmer shrouded in Wiltshire mist. Would it hurt to bring me roses rather than shallots? Or take me out to a fancy candle-lit dinner? […]

What’s the point of oxygen if we can’t share it? What’s the point of Hydrogen, if I can’t watch the sun set with you? What’s the point of ionic bonding if it’s stronger than our love?

a tiger can dissolve into mist – the river cannot abide unscathed prey. you want to span the whole thing with looming towers, yet i too slip between sounds, iron dagger at my hip. that sparkling dust that refuses your fingers like scattered rice grains in a bowl. the dull clink of your machine-struck coin; […]

My weak brave husband, he was always a brittle blade, Honour before reason, dry eyes open to the blaze of the sun, Each letter I opened talking of dead Scots and rebels and anyone But me. Me, empty-bellied, staring up at the night sky. Once. Twice. Thrice. At least until that final, crumpled, yellow light […]

a response to ‘Whoever She Was’ by Carol Ann Duffy they see me only in dark corners. hurrying, they pass me. a hot flash of alarm traces their face. delicate, like the warm trail-wake of a finger on cheekbones. i am not golden locks. i am anger and screaming and protest, presumably, and i can […]

Here, Forbesy Daubs and daddy Daffydd  a right bungling pair for the car boot  Dafty Daffydd waiting We’re late-ing Dai’s diabolical give him an insulin while Forbes Daubs – fat Artsy old fart – finishing up the plum job dabs in  lwyau caru by carbolic soap wrapped up. On the TellyVision I saw a collared […]