Better Having written a truly depressing poem about the brevity of life, the transitory essence of pleasure, how suffering is universal, justice an illusion, and other tragic matters...

  Time had not come …to Oscar Buckland’s birthday but remained on the windowsill of last winter, like a stone skimmed halfway across a frozen lake. …to the hay curled in grains and fidgeting...

    Morning Something about waking early, before daylight streaks the air with yellow, brings an intimacy with darkness, a purity to the day's endeavors. No matter how black the wall of...

      Last Supper the spicy sweetness of the red pepper explodes across my tongue, like a kiss later, the sweetness of wine-poached figs the smoothness of marscapone and the...

  End of Term You shovelled the snow an alibi for waiting at the gate until I came home fresh from university with one of those totem scarves. You blushed with pleasure but couldn't look up...

      Dolls Where love has gone, a sign dry-rots in wind. We’re open but we’re not really there. Take these irons. Cauterise those eyes, honey. All lies begin here, the doc nods. I’ve...

      Purple Car I wish I had a purple car because it would look so good as I drove by holding a lemon sherbet cup People would say: “That’s a delightful combination!” while others...

      spring rain an old letter unfolded again - home town In the familiar houses strangers - first frost i give a beggar nothing - empty beach my ear to a conch hears your whisper -...