A contemporary poem about distance has a heartbeat, using a concrete image system, a pressured turn and a restrained open ending.
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The kilometres do not lie still. They lift and fall beneath the map. At 3 a.m., I hear them in the pipework, a dull pulse travelling without permission. I place my palm on the wall. Somewhere beyond the dark, the distance answers in kind.
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A crossing-at-night poem about moving when the signal changes and choosing action over waiting.
A platform-side poem about a last train, a softened ticket and the light of other lives moving beyond reach.
A late-night road poem about taking the wrong exit, leaving an old stopping place behind and continuing without a map.
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