Crumbling bones of salt cannot hold the demons at bay any longer Their liquid limbs lap at my skull and my ribs My head crumbles open and they burrow into my brain, Piping their bodies into my consciousness.   My body is being rebuilt, bone…

I ought to be writing my novel, so naturally I’ve signed up to a 24-hour poetry marathon. Because why not? I think I need to write my own version of John Finnemore’s ‘Procrastination’ song, in which I list all the many and extremely necessary tasks…