18 Jul 2019 / News
Itis and the Labyrinth
(Labyrinthitis: a self-limiting disorder of the inner ear)
Hitchcock angles start the pinwheel.
My room strobes past
like fast train windows on a loop.
Your intricate architecture
is haunted by hiss and murmur
around the curve
of semi-circular canals and otoliths,
cavities hollowed out,
lodged in the temporal bone, time out of mind.
So much of me is blobs of meat
but you are delicate as bird bones,
alien as sea-shells.
A labyrinth’s call is to be mysterious,
consumed by its own convolutions.
Mine is to cling to walls and wait.
04 Dec 2019 / The Stories We Tell
Ten Rounds: Boxing and Writing
Inspiration for new books can come from the strangest places. My second novel was…
08 Nov 2019 / The Stories We Tell
Take Me to Tesco’s
I like writing, but I love living more. I’ve said variations of this many times…
01 Nov 2019 / Uncategorized
This is a question that anyone reading this has surely asked themselves. For me some days I’m a writer, other days…Read more