Radio Silence


Twisting the dial with trembling hands.

Awaiting news from distant lands.

Shipping forecasts, day is done.

White noise shrieking, there is no-one.

Static blares.


Ghost station in the vapor

A random number generator

Leaning over for final flick.

Shutting down with reluctant click.


Downtown Kathmandu.

The water buffalo stands stoically in the street, oblivious to the shouts from the tuk-tuk driver as he veers by it without slowing down.  From the back of the vehicle, I gaze at the ancient city as it unveils itself en route to the stupa on the hill. Its stained white dome a mystic beacon getting ever nearer.

Once there, under the ever-watchful eyes of Buddha, beneath the fluttering flags, I walk clockwise around and spin the prayer wheels that circle the base of the structure. Transfixed by the optimistic clacking sound they make as they turn and the copacetic feel of their runes on my fingertips, I almost collide with her. Our hands grazing as we steady ourselves.

“Excuse me,” I stammer.

“Namaste,” she replies.

British accent.

We spend the afternoon fucking in a spartan hotel room. She bites my shoulder as she comes.

Later, in the tea garden under a haze of marijuana smoke, I sit smiling and rub the mark she has left. I watch her flirt with my friends as  I compose a postcard I will never send.


The fat sparrow hops about my feet as it searches for scraps on the concrete.  Occasionally it flutters off, perhaps to feed its brood or perhaps to forage in other locations, but it always returns to cock its head at me with an enquiring gleam in its dark eyes. Its ruffled downy breast feathers, puffed out by the crisp wind, give it the appearance of a scruffy tennis ball with legs, bouncing between the tables.

There are a large number of birds about the cafeteria’s outdoor eating area, some perched in the surrounding trees, some sit on vacant tables or the backs of chairs but this one seems to be the boldest and, if size is a reliable indicator, most successful scavenger.

The pickings are good here. Many patrons leave food uneaten or, as I am doing, toss desultory morsels to those waiting in the wings. Under the watchful eye of my temporary companion, I break off another piece of bread, grinding it between my fingers and running my tongue over my teeth to taste the bitter remnants of the pill given to me earlier by the Russian doctor before flicking the crumbs onto the ground.

The plump sparrow jumps eagerly onto them, first in line but swiftly joined by several others. They squabble and flutter, peck and pounce. This is their battle ground, their feeding station, their nursery and their birthright. Their chirrups and whistles must fill the air.

But the only sound I hear is the reflex gasp he made on the white plastic pipe intubated down his near useless throat.


1) Breath(e)

No ghost haunts this house

Spirit on gossamer wings

Broken chrysalis

2) Lick

With insistent tongue

That’s how I like to leave you

Squirming in your seat


3) (Fever)Dreaming

Soothing kiss on brow

Sweet relief in ice-cold touch

Fried my little brains


4) Arc-Light

Unexpected gift.

Cascading over my senses.

Shining like a star.


5 ) Turn

Dizzy and breathless

Soothing whispers from afar

Let world stop spinning



The first time I met my Muse I was lost

I stared, She smiled, I averted my eyes

The second time I did not heed the cost

She laughed and teased but ignored my cries


The third time we met the Fates were aligned

Despite the pain, the joy and the rages

The words once committed would now be signed

Merely drunken scrawls on useless pages


The last time we met I sought Her release

Her gift explicit, a shock to behold

Trepidation yet the words will not cease

A secret I am driven to unfold


Still her voice whispers to me through the night

So I sit myself down once more to write

Repeat Screenings

….is typing

Prepare for the fix

Needle prick of junkie kiss

A willing addict

Held in ethereal bliss

As I watch the words scroll past



Bound by limbs

Entwined by sinew

Holding tight

Restrained by skin

Floating beneath the surface

Sinking to the bottom

Where the noise of this mundane world

Fades to a distant buzz


blind baby dragons

cave dwellers

born of fire

swaddled in darkness

to hunt the waters under the earth

flood washed to the surface world

pale and exposed

wriggling in the day’s light

burning from the inside


When he was a child, he played the violin with preternatural skill and flair.

“Prodigy,” they said.

“Musical genius,” they whispered.

He would sit with a serene expression and practice in the conservatory as the butterflies swirled about him, mosaic shards in the shafts of sunlight. They appeared to embody the notes that soared about as he played.

Then one day he returned from school, his shoes scuffed, his face red, his smile twisted. He packed the instrument into its case, stored it in the cupboard under the stairs and did not touch it again.

No one asked but if they had, he would have told them that while the butterfly’s flight is beautiful, it is transient. In the cocoon, on the other hand, one dreams forever.

The White Room


I found myself in this cube before time lost all meaning.
My cell, where I am kept prisoner for an unknown transgression
A bare room. All white. All light. No exit. No egress. Alone.
I’ve stared at the smooth alabaster walls until my eyes refused to shut.
My screams go unanswered so I remain mute.
I’ve scratched and clawed at the floor and walls until my fingers ribboned, the blood coursing briefly before evaporating.
A momentary splash of crimson wiped away by an unseen hand.
I do not eat.
I do not sleep.
I believe I breathe more out of habit than necessity
I may have lost my mind.
I’ve found if I stare long enough at the white, I can make words appear.
So this is what I do.
Ghost writing.
White glyphs etched on even paler vellum
Reams of unsane thoughts, lost epiphanies and meaningless mantras.
And yet I dream.
That if this could somehow appear on a distant screen.
That if by chance my plight could be glimpsed.
I would leave only these words:
When all you have is light.
At first you miss the dark, then you crave it and then you forget it….