Wittgenstein’s Beetle My mind is like a beetle in a box. I open up the box to see it go. It scuttles up and down and to and
Quietus It’s not the dying but having to quit that’s hard: to be cut from the tumult reeling in moments like this: a house waking to the east and
Field Notes : Watching the Crew of Atlantis Renovating the Hubble Telescope Winner of the 2013 Strokestown International Poetry Award What
We Go to Buy a Second-Hand Travel Cot slept in once or twice by someone’s infant or grandchild or friend’s baby. The trip to Roundabout offers a
The Form Is there water within 30 metres of your house? The burn swallows the lawn sometimes. It is running brown today because the rain has
Being Haunted How annoying the dead are. They like to be near us, breathe noisily behind the curtains or crouch under the table while we eat. The
Cochlear Implant ‘I could actually hear the skin separating. I’d peel a hundred satsumas just to hear that.’ And immediately I wanted to
Notes on the Use of the Austrian Scythe Second place in the 2013 Strokestown International Poetry Awards You can no more lend a man your scythe
Hymn to the Reckless (For my Brother) Third Place in the 2013 Strokestown International Poetry Awards Together we throw flame into orbit. The
Opening the Atlas Take an orange. Not for the moon/tide thing; turn it until the bit that was attached to the tree is angled towards your chin.