Wednesday, 10 May 2017

Return Flight

I have an essay about home and belonging in this amazing project from Melbourne, alongside dear lovelies such as Ryan Van Winkle and Nick Holdstock...

Tuesday, 2 May 2017


I am in this gorgeous new journal from New Zealand!

With a story about a magical immortal pervert with a serious penchant for mannequins. Pick up a copy here!

Sunday, 30 April 2017


If you want to be
immortal, stick a
wax mould all around

your bones and take the
temperature when the moon
is full. Is it better

to be hollow or just
the skeleton inside—are you
more afraid of emptiness

or losing your edge? Without
enamel, we’re all just parakeets
turning to dust, but if I wrote

my name in stitches
in your skin, would it hold
you together? We’re all just

hags in the morning,
shimmering and unslept,
but like most things that don’t

sleep, we don't have a
beginning. Mostly, we're
without an end as well.

Saturday, 29 April 2017


The heart is a flaming garland &
like all rings of fire, it is a tough

thing to step through. To step through
the heart takes courage of a gentle kind.

If you can make a lion purr by the scritch
of a fingernail, you are halfway there.

The lion's tongue lolls when it pads down
a path of pencil shavings, all the way

to the story in the woods. Sometimes
it's hard to tell the difference between

leaves and lies but both crackle when
you take a match to them. The heart

is flaming above all things.

Friday, 28 April 2017


The night is an extension cable for the princess’s
skinship. The retro thrusters are the mission
on ice. The mission started out metaphorically
but it turned into a real live trip. If it weren’t
for swallowed swords and skatebolts, the mission
wouldn’t have succeeded. The princess would
be left without skin. Without skin we are so much
wetter, it is so much more difficult to pretend
our bones are white. Bones—real bones—are
so many colours: vermillion, rainbow, forever clementine.
We pretend they are white, because white is the colour
of ghosts. But my bones are not dead yet &
the night stretches on.

Thursday, 27 April 2017


I am not a zombie and like all human people who are not zombies I do not subsist on brains and guts. If you have seen me walking slowly behind you with my arms outstretched it is because I believe in hugging. A hug is a cherry balm for the soul, so they say, and like all human people I prefer banana ice cream to a big flank of thighmeat. I know that sneaking up on horses makes you the predator, but that is fine, because I do not sneak anyhow. I have a slow walk. Scientists say that brains are for turning lights into thought things and guts are for turning food into inedible things, and I agree, of course. What a good use for those body parts. We are all human people here together, let’s hug.

Wednesday, 26 April 2017

26. FEUD

You mean all this time we could have been friends
is a hard tack to swallow, but who among us has never
held a pin between our teeth? Sometimes there are hems
and sometimes it makes sense and I confess: I’m a
sucker for the death bed reconciliation. Sometimes I can’t
tell if my grudges are too thick or barely enough to keep
myself warm. Am I the bent branch in a strong gust or too stiff
for ballerina shoes? You know, they say an optimist
is someone who does the same thing over and over again
and expects different results. Well, I have always
preferred butter to the bread’s lonely side, but I lied,
they didn’t say that at all. All this time we could have been
playing dead instead of snagging hooks in the septic pool,
praying we’ll come up carp. They say if there’s blood in the sink,
it’s already time to stop spitting, but even an iron rod can
believe in happy endings. I confess: I’m a sucker, again
and again, so I'll close my teeth tight this time,
and pray for my lungs.