A dark poem in which night rain moves through failing, obsession and mourning before changing into blood.
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Rain fell into the dead of night, dark hollows taking the splash. It fell through my failings, through obsessions left awake, through desires with their mouths empty, through the long weather of mourning. Rain fell. Then, having fallen, it was blood.
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A contemporary poem about the red refuses the blue, using a concrete image system, a pressured turn and a restrained open ending.
A dark free-verse poem about staged emergencies, the need to be needed, and the dangerous intimacy between rescue and control.
A surreal domestic weather poem about inherited damage, damp rooms, and a wall admitting a little sky.
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