Not All of Us Are Godlike Superbeings

Clown Poetry

Repetitive Strain

They're jammed - each mit's clogged with bullets

A Variation on an Old Game

One, two, three - we are craps players ready to toss -

Air Raids

(Rewrite) The story of a starling haunted to death by a paparazzi of twitchers has put me entirely off this ornithology business.

Bad Hunch

You have been hit by a bus again.

Being Crepuscular

Pulling up legs like sucked-on pens or loose teeth

Belt, Bra and Flower

The last three ingredients bought - now, along with pants, peeled back like the Tear Here strip on Babybels, and wear- ily scattered in the dark.


You blunder into a photograph. You know it is a photograph because there is a man to your right who is trying to pry his eye out of the camera lens.


I came back, didn't I? And I drank in a cafe that got stuck in your throat


counterspy hooked to its medulla, it adjusts this way, that