These hills that look towards both weald and waves
hold – in their homesteads, fenced and open land,
trackways and contours – all that’s happened here

I’m sorry for the screeching and swearing we winter swimmers do.

A decapitated road sign
Spears the yellow verge,

Meaningless as a symbol
Of progress. A vain strut.

I wrote a metaphor using eel
for blue-light reflections in water
on a flooded motorway

Because I don’t know any other way

I replace my left hand
with a hook, my feet
with jackhammers, both
my eyes with spangled
mirror balls.

Some Things My Mother Forgot to Teach Me (Before She Died)

A while ago I saw this prompt on Instagram
though I added ‘before she died’
because mine did—long before
anyway, I made a list

Funny how Year 8 is doing bones
now, of all the weeks. In the prep room
we strip flesh off chicken wings

      Memento Vivere We lived here once. The rain we heard fell everywhere. Silence except the wind across the ground. It’s best to keep quiet. Words are like dead seeds, they vanish when they’re said.   *   New Year’s Eve without stars or...

There’s something wrong with the sky

it’s the colour of a bruise and smells
of burnt toast. Do you hear that noise?
Someone’s shredding the blue