Grey shadows on grey concrete Slate Devoid of depth No true darkness here to hide in Or to die alone in Not someone there to miss Or even hate Not here the solace of despair Nor the soft cool … Continue reading »POEM: In the Dust Left by the End of the World
“The ceaseless labour of your life is to build the house of death.” – Montaigne, Essais I built my house from lust; From that moment Before skin touches skin When my hand hovers Above Her curving thigh … Continue reading »POEM: House of Lust
You splurge out all your energy onto the page, in maybe 20 minutes or so. Just, bam, out there, everything in one poem draft, and you find yourself exhausted but you still stay with it, tweaking, copying it down into … Continue reading »Drafts