The hollow of my ear fills with water.
Rolling into uncanny valley
He was a hard dog to keep on the porch
“I think of myself as off-brand. I’m not the coca-cola, I’m comfortable with that.” Roni Horn
Sunk island
“I’ll soon get a glass eye and you will get a medal” a female Iranian protester
“When men choose not to believe in God and thereafter believe in nothing, they then become capable of believing in anything.” GK Chesterton
Political leadership has exploited post- Imperial phantom pains, nostalgia and fears of the loss of social status…
Trying to remember is like boxing smoke.
As an American living on the west coast of Ireland, but brought up in Boston, he tells me that whenever he goes shopping in town he sees all his old school friends, the shadow shapes of their faces, their eyes and lips that have crossed the water and back again.
He came to poetry late and never left
Ireland, a place where greens are unfiltered and reds run wild
Galway new builds have corner windows that look like a clear Lego brick I lost years ago, now similarly misplaced.
He mistakes the sound of heavy rain against the window for frying white onions
Sharp enough to shave a sleeping mouse