My Mother Welcomes me to the Care Home Come and live, we'll find you a house, you'll have an old time and be loved. You can just sit there, don't lick a finger, there's ups and there's dugs but we've got to go nowhere. They take us in so we can...

      Disabled Person’s Travel Card Council, council, let me on the bus That you let me on last week. Oh no Ms Watt, you can’t go on the bus For we don’t know where you live. So off I went to get proof of address And I thought I’d sorted out the mess...

      Testing times My bones scold-heavy, heartsick I drag my eyes anywhere - to the funeral wax of lilies, to the boastful damselflies confident in their beauty. I refuse to look at, to acknowledge, that Chair, waiting to test. Solid. I won't watch the...

      A movement of flutes I'm rushing. the beer shops all close here at 10pm sharp (that’s unless you're already in them). I've been eating dinner at my parents’ tonight – with my brother and sister and both of their wives. now it's 9:45, and I've made...

      nocturne a note lingers a forward echo from an ancient song the lone woman on the long road carries it on with imperfect pitch a gate opens a door opens she is gone a continent away a man well-versed in parting words hums a tear into his own eye...

      A Scripted Life Each day the play starts over, you making sure you’re not the protagonist, that yes, you’re listed in the credits but not under this name, or any name you might give to be scrawled on the side of a paper cup by a barista to avoid...

      Foresting Grannylou steps into the forest and a thousand Grannylous greet her. A mess of baby Grannylous roll along the forest floor, plum-cheeked and pawing at squirrel tails, giggling at twenty-something Grannylous who slot themselves into...

      Ceres in the garden You wring yourself from me a sort of ripening a size-of-fist fruit pome trailing smashed seed juice you slip from my palms, lovelike my plum pudding prismatised in the light in your soft proto-placental such brilliant viscera...

      peter lacy you beg me to saturate you    like oxygen in a hyperbaric chamber    just a whiff of torso a lungful of animalic notes    my bones smell smoky & powdery against yours    don’t magnetise yourself    I prefer you smaller than a nail...