"this is sixth form poetry, not Keats or Yeats"
We live on a mesh of invisible lines, the rigidity of attraction softly veiled by the faintness of touch; gentle come-hithers undone by the subtlety of their approach. Invisible guests stand to attention, physical aggregations two-stepping an illusion as straight as the crow flies; its lineal distinction stolen without tribute …
Across tropical concert halls, the air vibrates with the sound of a thousand voices; a living orchestra concealing its decline with the vivacity of each performance. Its muted notes lost beneath the canopy. Guided beyond senses we dowse for inference, amassing microscopic fragments that ripple across the surface; fleeting footsteps …
Struggling beneath the weight of accumulation you buckle in the rains; a surplus of backwash baptising you with the filthy discharge of a thousand vanquished drains. Every street and boulevard fades beneath the waves; thoroughfares gasp for breath, the city’s arteries washed clean until they lead to shallow graves. Inundated …
Weighed down by the delights of an afternoon’s jumbled scavenging you zigzag drunkenly across the sky; tumbling through monocultures to the wild abandon of your uncultivated home. Squatting in the corner of Farmer John (or was it Giles)’s field, you hear him exclaim: “Those bees will be the end of …
Your tarnished skin crinkles in the breeze, an ancient husk that juts from the Earth like a withered question mark; interrogating the exuberance that stirs you from your slumber. We crouch, childlike, beneath your broken boughs, callow limbs pawing at flesh As we bore incrementally through your sunken past; …
Ghostly quilts of verdant fields shimmer in the braying heat, picked bare by arid gusts that rattle through the landscape with malicious intent; a rank, distorted echo of where life once flowed. The condition of vegetation now exposed, as it jostles for space on weathered bulletins that proclaim your arrival …
Fleeing down grassy corridors from whirring teeth that hack at your habitat with ill-managed discipline; this rich mossy canvas spat out as loamy clots, to line the limits of your enclosure. Guided by twin suns that cut towards your changing horizon; an oily mirage unveiled at the last, by …
Buried deep beneath the tundra, frozen bodies lie asleep, waiting for the trumpet call to raise them from their peaty beds. Saturated with the fossilised remains of a menagerie of forgotten kingdoms, their broken lineage piling up into a carbonated device of disturbing consequence. Pressed against these treacherous soils, the …
Breaking free from sandy beds you race towards the water’s edge; lunar compass perfectly attuned to the faintest glimmer of starry nights, and the worlds of distance in between. Constellations align, as you cleanse the sands from the sea’s rotting discharge; custodian of the dunes you cruise the coastlines, bearings …
Smothered beneath a sombre blanket of white lines and greying skies, eyes desensitised to your jaded complexion as our lives play out in stilted monochrome. Suffocating outside the sureness of your emerald embrace, we wilt in the heat, our voices muffled by the deafening absence of your hushed serenity. Shuffling …