From "Descent" January 2020
Although, above us now, the gulls circle. They rush darkly over us like bad flowers. By noticing where they cloud, you can see the reflected map of North London’s rubbish.
I don’t know if I will get used to hearing them over the high road - they still sound like the seaside for me - no longer behind trawlers, they yell in the wake of the city, learnt now to mine more directly our superfluity.
From "The Laureate" March 2020
He went quiet and thoughtful, like a baby, and some painful emotion swept down over his face, making him momentarily glower at my hand and then grimace as it seemed something collected distastefully in his mouth.
He swallowed. His hand gently pinched his fingers around the whole sheaf of money I was holding. We looked at each other and I slowly felt the upward gravity of the notes lifting out of mine. Agonised, desperate, hopeful of the promise of a transaction, I unheld them more and more until they were gone.
From "A Small Boat" February 2020
I have rehearsed many times how I could tell you, but my language is only partially learnt and I fear I misdirect my words. Without wanting to be too scientific, nature abhors a vacuum and the breeze and suck of the door as you leave is what drags me in. Without wanting to be too spiritual, it might be simplest to think of me as the shadow of a… you don’t have the word for it... “soul” is close but I dread to think how you would let that word mislead you.