extract from Words Grow Quietly

II Words have a habit of grow­ing quietly, and in the most unex­pec­ted places, into poems. Syl­lables silently link hands, phrases cling like lovers, feel­ing right, and des­pite all well-inten­tioned reasoning, refuse to part. 22/7//88 – real­ity...

“If you don’t get what you want, you’re a statue” – is what cap­it­al­ism wants you to believe, but if you do get what you want in a cap­it­al­ist world, since you can only get what you are offered, then you are def­in­itely a statue, adorned with all...

Candycolours

He walks out, silently into a world where no-one shows outrage – it is not done, though each suppresses the inner scream. The years go by. Scalpel, scis­sors, dis­sec­tion, cloth please nurse… good, that’s all his love safely bottled in a brine...