from 'At The Frontier'

The diary lay blank. A summer job fell through. 
The engine in my head ran wild, 
chopping up clay, foliage, nudging farm machinery
to roll loose across the landscape 

down into the valley between the old hills.
The pool of mud was meat under moonlight. 
Someone lit fireworks in a darkened annex.
The hooded man offered a long-toothed smile. 

These things I can confirm.

Published in Poetry Birmingham December 2019. Available here.

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