It's a shame, isn't it, to have to rat on your neighbours? Upsetting to find out that both your husband and the dog have been telling you lies? And I hate to be the one to tell you this, but there are bad people everywhere, at large, going about their business. Financial insolvents on online-dating sites, contortionist plumbers with a point to prove, and a bloke named Barry, from Halifax, who is singlehandedly ruining the livelihoods of perfectly legitimate psychics.
It's not all bad news though, there are sham marriages to look forward to, ducklings to be held captive by, and that dog, well, you can always put him up for sale. Life, I'm afraid, is based on nothing more than slippery moorings, and this debut pamphlet breaks the bad news with humour and a twist of darkness.
The poems in this collection erupt with beauty and emotional resonance. These are graceful meditations on human relationships with each other and with themselves. The voice of the poet is strikingly unique, but there are also moments when it seems to be coming from within us, from the place of personal wonder: 'Outside a wood-pigeon coos monotonously / its slung together nest is hidden from view, / just like your knickers are, mostly, / and your feelings about your mother.' — Romalyn Ante, co-judge of the International Book & Pamphlet Competition
