Vortex is one of my darkest pieces, drawing on the imagery  within Heart Of Darkness and Apocalypse Now and linking that sense of entrapment, heat and submission with an act of physical love. In reality the subject matter is sufficiently indecent to render the live reading of the poem tragi-comic (or downright hysterical) as opposed to the darkly masochistic message that, perhaps, leaps from the page. It is of course a billet-doux to all womankind. The final couplet has evolved as a north london dinner party ice-breaker. Which is a good thing. Just added a video that seems to capture the zeitgeist x 


 Head held hard by an invisible hand,

I welter in that fertile hothouse again.

In the musty whirlpool where rivers meet

An eclipse of thigh my only friend,

Your torso trembles to the lizard flick

Your supine lust the scented garden I tend.

A jack-knifed duvet my mosquito net

Excluding notions of love and time

But way beyond clichés and sauvignon sweat

There’s a reason I lap to your selfish cries;

Angels somewhere applaud my Amazon effort

(Replanting the rainforest for a missionary cause,)

Your heart – the horror, the horror – at journey’s end,

Your sobs of satisfaction my lonely reward.