my father was a ufo
eating passengers for tea
afore he went to bed
he ran the tale of me

my father was an aircraft ship
his arm around the sea
afore he went to bed
he ran the tale of me

my father was a hobbit dwarf
making myth for thee
afore he went to bed
he ran the tale of me

my father was the emperor
of factory 63
afore he went to bed
he ran the tale of me

my father was the counter–ghost
he warmed the winds of plea
afore he went to bed
he ran the tale of me

my father’s post computer
from the singularity
before he builds his birthing bed
he’ll run the tale of me

the liberation of [placeholder]

I find your style, visually and verbally, engaging and individual while utterly without posturing. Which is not the norm on any count. (Randolph Healy)

A work of art and a labour of love, worth every penny of the 16 pound asking price, The Liberation of [Placeholder] will grace any coffee table. More please. … I want to hold [this] up as a model for where, in this digital age, poetry in print should be bound. Poetry collections as artefacts …. (The Journal, Autumn 2012)