Two Poems

On my back I carried the coffin in which my father lay. / Bent low by its weight, I staggered forward step by step. / My pace slowed, the burden was too great, it was beyond / me.


1 The land’s forever making noise of rise and fall, the grand parabola. But must it always paraphrase? The moon can’t blink its shining cornea toward t... Read more

Superposition and Collapse

I drop it at the bus stop, not drunk, I don’t think, just cack-handed and carrying too much tat. Face-down beside the kerb, it looks unbroken. I could leave it there, like Schrödinger’s famous cat, the damage quantum, both smashed and not-smas... Read more


In the supermarket upturned octopuses lie on stones of ice as on a cold beach or an operating table. Obscene, as they should be with their legs splayed, thei... Read more

Variations on Anne

If the poem is an enigma. If the poem does not offer a solution. If the solution does exist and someone calls out that you must find it. If that someone is y... Read more

Death of the Birch-tree

'Lean is the dull steel flashed white in the sun / Like a sudden lifting of the white-leaved abele, / Flushed from the raw thongs of the birch-tree / The white wood flies through the mists of morning.'


'My mordant friend told me the story of / the woman he loved in youth in Oxford /who had, he said, "a hospitable cunt".'