‘The Fence Industry’, ‘Eviction’ published in MASS Action Zine (Ed. Janna Aldaraji)

Here are a couple of my pieces published MASS Action, a Danish based zine collating poetry, prose and essays with the aim of giving a platform to voices on migration, edited by Janna Aldaraji. Keep your eyes out for the next issue…


A Tryptic from Catalonia

Before O-1



and the rebel din
each night at ten


Els carrers seran
sempre nostres!3


Not tired
or pensive

Our triangular dance
Catalan stumbles.

It was never graceful
these things aren’t.

What happens?

¿en domingo?

                no ho sé

      ¿y después?


Suzanna is from Madrid
her support is unconditional

but not without discomfort.

¿Dónde está el tricolor?
¿la alegoría?
Our answer comes,
with love.
You sound like mis padres!6

I met José with Pau
they took me to the fossars
At La Paterna.

Stood by a low wall
and its pock marks

flag clasped
¡No Pasarán!7
we cried.

And tonight
Estelada draped
beaneath correfoc sparks.

the same words.

Anna Gabriel
toda en femenina8
bent arm, clenched fist salutes.

A shoulder tap and
Pau hushed whsipers

“Hombre, ella es como La Passionaria9

It´s like listening to Dolores”

After the Declaration

Trance like
on Paralell
thought I saw
Anna Gabriel
she looked sad

people do.

But nights still sprawl
beneath long stares
black humour
strange mood

I babbled
in the bubble
on Sepulveda.
Smiling swine
shouldered rifles. 

Friends played
pick up sticks
with deft touch

I watched as
they listened
we laughed
all drank and again

til in Esquerra de L’Eixample
with Marc and Nestor
I rolled fat cigarettes
they clicked chips
laid cards on felt.

Held faces.
The lost, gained
and gambled,
were discussed.

Saturday followed
with Pau and Belen,
as loving as ever.
we met at Fontana,
crissed Gracia’s cross

(but fourth)
on a corner block, paella
with Migi that triangular dance
again, which wine makes easy

and the name game
whilst we waited on thunder.

Up The Mountain

On Monday Joan and I
sat bitten on Blai

between castle shade
and the neon lit mill.

Rattle drained glasses
gulped pintxos
and grins.

Qué rico!10

We made for the tube lights
subterranean bookstall
up the mountain
frozen suburbs.

Tens Foc?11

Yellow ribbon smile
below grey bouffant
atop cream jacket,
an offered flame

by the monastery
near somewhere
I often used to be
and left for France
without knowing.
Where we met. 

Republica, Ara
Fora les forces

and iced hands
raised and shaken

Like autumn in Paris
spring in Athens had been.
A broiling June
in Rostock

Ajuntament 13

a zebra stripe of letters in bold.



plummet thud woken
from evening daydreams

¡Viva el Rey!
¡Viva Cristo el Rey!
¡Arriba España!
¡La alcadesa a prisión!


brittle egos

blade keen
tailor cuts
and toddling ultras

their willing.

1 We will vote! (Catalan)

2A pots and pans noise protest common across Latin American, Spain and Catalonia

3The streets will always be ours (Catalan)

4On Sunday? (Castellano) I don’t know (Catalan) and after? Fuck! (Castellano)

5Where is the tricolour, the allegory?

6My parents (Castellano)

7They Shall Not Pass! (Castellano)

8All in the feminine (Castellano)

9Man, she sounds like La Passionaria (Castellano)

10Delicious! (Castellano)

11 Got a light? (Catalan)

12CDR (Committee to Defend the Republic) Republic, now. Occupying forces leave (Catalan)

13Local council offices (Catalan)


15 Long live the king! Long live christ the king! Up Spain! The mayoress to prison! (Castellano)



Build the tumble tall
and taller still
until it stands solid.

Put spanners in the works
the machinery is ours
Mr. Blocks they matter not.

When disruption
halts destruction
and passive lips
go blue in service

walk on the grass

lock doors in front of you
so ones behind remain open



This time its not performance
and anger’s broken glass
but action of the idea
in asymmetry

this time
there won’t be
next time.

Resist a bean counted future
algorithms can’t teach.

Number based stress dreams
and dullest melancholy
are a slow death.

The intellectual factories
OURS for the taking.


A shattered glass shudder
shimmers spilt oil halo
spectra in the night.

All that ever was
glitters in our pyrrhic victory
acrid tang
wire wool
that scours

but the laughter always follows
one along
slow and steady
one along slow and
steadies one along.

Oh the neon
all the fractures
swap and wobble
all the fractures

hold up
throaty growls
sway creaking boughs


swap the low ebb cheap
for fluorescence
and traded sleep
its delerium
is concrete.

We’ll get your money’s worth.

Count the sirens
hold them back
between hillside gaps
and pin point echoes
triangulate the be all

forlorn valley intervals
that give their way to
the light stacked steep
fought space
rational towers

clip frames
and failures
draw out wails
span the aural range
and right back there again

slow and steady one along
the slow steadies one along
and the laughter always
follows one along.

Three in a row
bottoms up
the fourth
is drop
into a shadow’s hole

arguing the toss

with reflections
in off white plaster
where decoration should be

slow but frantic
steady gone
and the laughter with it

is below
is warning
bleak as Wednesday
in pale mid-morning

it will pass before returning
on a dim lit Sunday afternoon.

keep a list

in the wake of
note the subtle

keep sharp
pencil at hand
for crisp pages

sketches of
emerged phantasms
with physical form

take time to
collect compile
angle your poise

experiment with light
test resistance through
long small hours

give thought
glimpse of mirror
fresh air and keen ear

leave in way of
the famed for all

sincere or not
whip wit demolition jobs

listen where all
blocks fall

full heart laugh
hold the replies

don’t stop

Beer from the Garage.

Like a Sisyphean struggle in reverse
we tumbled down the mountain, most days.
It was very hot, we panted like the dogs
and sweated our tits off, as humans do
then drank very cold beer from the garage.
Sisyphus rolled that stone back up, every time.
We just hitched a lift.

That Cat

One of the cats looks at me
like he’d rip my face off
in an instant
given half a chance.

He’s a bond villain of a mog
lazy scarred right eye
and an ice cold
lipped curled snarl.

But his mew
high pitched and reedy
when food’s produced
belies any ambitions for world domination.

He scrans
we talk for a bit
then he scowls again
and fucks off.