I sound the horn and declare war on time.
This marching arrow will march no more
with a bullet in its knee and another in its jaw.
Read More
Humans have windows with shutters and drapes;
Hinged spheres of glossed glass tinted many colours.
Read More
A wandering child finds a shadow-show:
watches the pale tarp contort the gloom,
where a story is painted by the loss –
Read More
Metal on metal scrapes the soundtrack to my parent’s cooking.
Our cold stone floor reflects the clash of dusty steam.
Read More
