In the tight clench
of hormone-drunk years
the shape of skin
and skeleton just sinks

your flooded self, all
bogged with life’s full
stops and every-day
disaster. And so it seems

the house is porous –
our bricks that promised
protection, the roof
that used to hold

the sky’s weight high
above your head, now fail
to stop the incursions
into body and self –

and self is body
in these seeping days
of small screen social life,
where ideas swell in

to cracks, gaps, hairline
fractures – the streams
of domestic floodplains
between the walls

of your room, between
the skin-thin walls
of the thoughts you use
to build the world.



Pascal Fallas is a writer and (occasional) photographer currently living in Norfolk, UK. His poems have recently appeared in London Grip, The Fenland Poetry Journal, Brittlestar and The Alchemy Spoon. For more information/contact please visit www.pascalfallas.com.