For Aveline de Rais Rubinshteyn she is standing in thrall to the tempest she has nothing to lose but her hide she knows all the tricks and she's seen all the hicks and she's secretly crying inside her skin is a rocking horse palimpsest she has nothing to give but her...

these pared down, harrowed days conjured from flame and fervour spread thin like a cry drawn from parched lips; like an ache refracted. in our cities, bodies drift like sparks in conflagrations — ash-light; empty rhetoric falls gnarled as tinder. what foul seraphs...

Ah winter, your vaulted roofs are sandstone And your halls are chill. Your corridors echo with a lone brown oak leaf and the south wind. On the steps, a philosopher dreams civilization, Smoke curling around his fantasies. Winter, You are a proud ancient thing, settled...

For my Grandmother She is old and crimped like a pinched-off string Yesterday was filled with memories of buttercups She made dolls of mountain devils when they were babes Tomorrow, a glass of sherry on her own, in her room Yesterday was filled with memories of...