Dial M for Mother

Had the weirdest dream ever in which basically everyone I’ve ever known and loved and fallen out with showed up in a haunted house. It wasn’t the pleasantest dream while it was going on (there were also some mice and a couple of gory deaths involving parents), but when I woke up I sensed it could be in some way cathartic. Continue reading



A Post-Fairy Tale

Blood and sugar

Spiked the hunger,

And hunger blossomed

Into a fever.

The slow treacly burn

Of basic desire.


And soon it was dark.

And then it was darkest.

And then it was darker.


Black and purple and green and blue

Deep red welts and a faded bruise.



Give me your fists will you

So I could stay its pummeling –

If just for this moment


But you say –


Give me your lips will ya

So I could kiss you back


Into breathing.


Never quite got the hang of writing poetry. Despite my love for the genre, I’m a prose person all the way through. (I think because poetry requires not only a sense of musicality, but also a passion for truth, which I don’t have)

But sometimes I do make occasional, brave forays into the land of verse. And ah, there’s nothing like bad poetry to lift the spirits on an autumn morning, eh?