I like the condensed nature of poems: they’re great for capturing a theme, a moment, an emotion. Many poems I write, I’d never show anyone. I use them as sketches to express something I don’t understand, and often find they help me gain insights.

This is a poem I wrote during the process of working on Cooking with Bones, to get me connecting with the ‘raw material’. I felt as if I needed to get to know ‘bones’ as objects from a closer angle.

So with that in mind, I decided that I needed to:

a) attempt to understand them by writing a poem


b) pick a suitable target, perform a murder and subsequent extraction.

The latter was far too gruesome, and a little bit wrong. So here’s the poem..




isn’t peaceful.

each heartbeat, as it stops

continues as a drumbeat, in the


We bones ache to move out

of the living bodies we’re buried in.

We’re locked in and lively

slyly sheathed by


When we’re naked


we’ll dance truthfully.

Under any kind of light,

sun-stroke day or fluorescent night

we’ll glow pale as we clobber


build drum rolls; our echoes

will scramble through clouds,

as we ricochet


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