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Start Here
counter/field is a place where different poems meet. This pinned guide offers a few entry points and paths to help you navigate the work.
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⭢clean_slide
He sat erect on the faded sofa and looked down at the coffee table and the gun sitting on it. A Glock. His Glock. He picked it up, feeling it tug in the hand. Once, on that freighter with the fuel leak, Celine…
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The West
There are eight sober tones. They reverberate through my body— then elsewhere.
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Final Instructions
The descent continues through ordinary systems and instructions that almost make sense. A hotel, a train platform, a receipt. Nothing dramatic happens. The language moves.
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Side Effects
The screen shows a box of medication above lines of small script. The voice says “Azartane. Side effects may include dizziness, nausea, confusion, and semantics.”
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Ritual
A match flares. Incense catches. Smoke rises.
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Terminal Reflection
In the quiet of a late terminal, small movements and reflections no longer align as they should.
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Sine Qua Non
In the quiet machinery of a hospital room, breath becomes the only measure that matters. Monitors, pressure, oxygen, and a single circle of light hold the body in place while language begins to break apart. A poem about collapse, necessity, and the thin line between care and oblivion.
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Basement Level Two
I walk through hard light and fractured shadows. My footsteps echo before the drone absorbs them.
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The Last Bus
A late-night scene near a bus stop changes when a person walks through a pool of light and stops in shadow. The insects fall silent, the breeze stills, and the speaker waits as the moment deepens. A poem about night, attention, and the subtle shift from calm to unease.
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West End Tryptych
Three scenes from the West End — civility, voltage, and quiet composure. A study in how public voices shift tone as the listener withdraws.
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The Ferry and the Tree
Past that, the twin diesels rev hard; the boat surges and a boy appears, running in a green Raiders shirt and yellow Crocs that gleam in the sunlight. I laugh, then stop, and return to silence.
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After the Storm
A poem set in the afternoon heat, where humidity climbs and the sky darkens. A bank of pewter cloud muscles across the horizon from the south. Wind rises through the square as a man begins strange gestures— a ritual before the coming storm.
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The Beforetimes
In the cooking room, the kettle begins to sing, and her voice answers — calling a name I no longer trust belongs to me.
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Chasing Clouds
After the day’s heat, a jazz singer colours the evening air turquoise, a man inhales from a blue cylinder, and a dog dances after smoke on the Street.
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The Night Is Young
Evening settles over the river; friends laugh on the damp grass. Memory hovers—half-forgotten, half-desired—like a country glimpsed in fading light.
