Memory Foam Instructions: Board plane. Crave Gin&Tonic. Take train. You will need: two souls, one star screwdriver, one hammer, five hours. (note: if you buy ticket from New Street to Oxford, mother and daughter will have a two hour…

Chipping Rocks Salim’s nails sparkle, but they are mostly black. Chipping a rock with his sharp metal stick, he wipes his drippy nose with the back of his hands, his matted hair is caked in Mica dust. While the barren Jharkhand hills…

Plate 23 Boniface VIII made it illegal to boil the bones of any man who had died abroad, so during his papacy all corpses had to be carried intact, or in bloody chunks from whatever holy battlefield they met their end. Anatomists of…

Trying To Lose A Line It all piles up, like Tetris. It's hard to know where to put the worries, sometimes. One catastrophe on top of another:           a volcano                                on a landslide on an earthquake.…

And The Word Became Flesh the white space waits for my reply I don’t type, instead the words appear in bold on my fingertips, in my pulse the white space waits for my reply I put my fingers on my lips, so I can’t type the …

The Lure of Love after the painting, The Snake Charmer, Henri Rousseau, 1907 June nights late I am transported To a moist and primitive land And in its jungle confronted By strange tethering. I am mute and robbed of my voice, I…

Passage Plan Anchor of yearning, Cleat me to the seabed Where boneless algae stands upright. If the breakers grow fat on kelp, Then let me sleep among the drowned. Keel of tenacity, Propel me through this saw-like cove Before…

Feeling Sexy       Exercise? I only run my mouth. Though sometimes, if feeling adventurous, I’ll also do an alcohol run. Ordered my beach body months ago, and it’s yet to get here; never online shopping again. Can ya pass the fries? What…

On the Street Where You Live It is one of those late autumn days when the trees on the street seem to have nothing to do. They stand shivering in puddles of leaves, hands waving to keep warm, bold rustle of summer now a bald whisper. …

The Desert It is almost one month since I last wrote. With distance things have become clearer. Every surface feels alive under my bare feet; rough cotton, wet grass, flat rocks with crystals embedded. Mornings are chaotic with birdsong…