Bubbling Under

'I live by the alien logic we impose on children. / Whoever smelt it dealt it. I’m glazed with K-Y / beside the Goth girls gone haywire. / Talk about cathexis!'

Enjoy my Symptom

'I spit on any fresh green breast. / It’s a misdemeanor. You can build the rest / from airplane parts and Listerine.'

I Did This to My Vocabulary

'The moon is my alibi. My tenders throw hissy fits. / My scalp’s at the foot of the precipice. / My lume is spento, there’s a creep in my cellar. / You can stand under my umbrella, Ella.'


'I’d look up to them looming on street corners, / or down on them at night through my bedroom blinds, / crashing home from the Labour Club, mad drunk. / After a while I decided they must be unhappy.'


'The veil of weather, the hopeful smell / of just-cut grass, the who-knows-what / that goes on behind closed doors'