I could go on and on for pages and pages, hours and hours. I tried not to. These answers are in no way comprehensive.

1.    What does your creative process con...

The ground is covered red
with leaves, and I can hear
blackbirds singing. Here,
red means good luck.
 

Your lens flared when
you photographed her,
the part-circles of rainbow
 
offsetting the angles

Everything always was.

Everything, as blocks, as
     elements to be built up.

Everything was something else, once.
    ...

It was so hot that you didn’t wear clothes,
only threw the windows and the shutters

wide open and hoped for a breeze.
The nights I couldn’t sleep, even with

only a s...

In the windows of the wreck 
of the house I watch 
the sun set. No, not wreck

so much as shell. I hold it 
to my ear to hear the waves 
I now k...

The day after it snowed
I couldn’t sleep.

When it started
to become light

I went for a walk.
I put on

several layers
of black clothes

I can see my breath from
under the duvet, the
frost, single glaze. It takes

half an hour to pull
off the covers and get up,
pull on a jumper. In the

kitche...