Its stiff plate creaks. Its stillness Sweats a trawlerman’s grip; A creaking belt, like hunger pain. I walk with it, unnerved by any kind of bed. As back pain never gives me up for long. The weary night’s a crying child. Snatched back, then clutched to dizziness; The slumping need of sleep denied. Its fingertips drop on my skin, Tap ice-cool mercuries of hope. Each touch a pledge of peace. That drums the forehead Just above the skull, each minuet of breeze Might cool my angry...

In come the boys, all long and lean. Upright and proud, with boyish beliefs Slouched like tongues curled in their cheeks. The tallest one smirks, Like a girl asked him first; Warily caught laughing out loud. He practises, His father watching from a thin bed of iron, Delicate as an old umbrella frame. Defiant too, though wearily clenched. Simply the gang of them, Stretched the length of the stage, Like marchers advancing up dirt roads, All orangey heat and a haze of kicked up heels. But instea...

I. The telephone brings death, That fucked up girl, three times. The first, we get all near; All intimate and night-time hot. My mother talks, some absent minded chat; Then, feeling flushed, just drops the phone. Unclasps and flattens, linens of collision As her clothes recline. Her heart a gangman’s bicep bulge, A hangman’s trap of unswung weight, All slack and gone. Not even time to call her husband’s name. That quiet has no shape. Just there and then not. II. The second call for me: the ne...

Some things are better left unsaid. Like my gift to you. I will not open Your review And any credits that you get Are yours for free. Sometimes unheard words are best.