The Londoner

The Londoner

A sunbird dances frantic across my eyelids closed
and the hum and the wiggle of the carriage makes me crazy; comatose.
East of the city we are chugging away towards the sea and gulls and the open space.
But I am city-sick, heartsick, lovesick broken and it’s hard to adjust to expanse and warmth and slower paces when you don’t like being exposed for what you are:
a hard-nosed, arsehole Londoner. 

Dating

Dating

When Joan Braided My Hair

When Joan Braided My Hair