sean is a writer, artist & performer who tours, exhibits, collaborates & publishes 
internationally.  commissioned theatre works include in an age of double-glazing for 
paines plough (1999), cutter for half moon theatre (2004) and red voice for 
birmingham rep (also 2004).   he has recently completed a short film - stealing brecht - 
for medialab/artsway which is now receiving screenings around the country.  released 
enhanced CDs of his work include nΨRth and red voice.  skrev press 
http://www.skrev-press.com publishes his first full length collection of prose – 
electrofiction & wrecking ball press http://www.wreckingballpress.com his first full 
length poetry collection - never sleep with anyone whose got more scars than yu  - both spring 2005 
 

in a riverside alder
2 kingfishers
- more concrete than
  the southern bypass


	the sky is tangerine
	                    aflame
              beyond the bypass
  another impossible sunset


sun sets
this guy walks past
a crown on his head
only paper   but still gold


                        these nights
                      maple leaves 
                              slow fall
     stars to a red-brick floor


even 
the graffiti
ov this bruised place
is in latin


	last saw kingfishers
	        30 year ago ...
 	     ... before the fire
  	  & i learnt the struggle  alone
 

… now 2 am owls 
blow thru fingertips
colliding w/ the screech
ov goods-train-shunt


& the racketeering
ov traffic beyond
rings roads
4 miles around


i cannot sleep 
for thinking
... oranges & lemons 
squeal the bells ov 




natalie   

ma neighbour natalie says she can 
smell ma coffee as she climbs her stairs

loves fresh coffee, proper coffee   
i offer 1 day to make yu some

havent touched alcohol in 2 years
yu pour tennessee malt saying fucking new year eh?

we compare tattoos, piercings, pain-thresholds
ever been to prison?  

ever been locked in psychiatric hospital? 
meant to say: i blew smoke in the psychiatrists face

pipes burst, water surges down both our walls 
down electric cables, we sit away from sockets

waiting on the sparkie, yr hand reaches unsteady 
across space   grasps mine   are yu gay?

no.  i'm depressive.  in darkness yu stub out yr fag
arriving into the next morning, sparkies the clichι cowboy 

times the great healer eh?   whistles WWII 
we’ll meet again some sun-nee day

yu kick over yr glass dont rescue it in time
i sink ma back against your hot radiator

soak up its warmth & the warmth ov tennessee
the moons frost pale thru air, yu ask: do i believe in fate?

do i? as yr almost asleep, legs tucked up
on furniture from the neighbourhood recycling scheme

i’m scared to leave yu, i’m scared to leave  
i leave - noiseless - time to brew coffee, time



tattooing lorca

something from childhood struggles to make it thru   
dont swallow apple pips: it will root in yr appendix & grow  
descending to yr feet, bursting up yr windpipe 
branches breaking out thru arms, a tree from throat & spine  

want a lorca tattoo on ma scarred wrist, slit so many times
this 1 long curve ear to ear, arrow heads pointing upwards 
a mouth tight & a storm ov tears from where eyes should be  
deep green line for curve, red for the mouth, blue for the storm 

ov tears inked down ma multi-slashed wrist, minds-eye  
this is what i fight for in the strangest sectioning ov ma section career   
apple tree roots breaking out, cracking down 
burrowing thru concrete to the ground floor 

& a flood ov tears, waters rising, washing, washing away  
lorcas tears are my tears, we each suffer our own prison  
want the roots to anchor me, tears to wash me clean  
want the roots to anchor, tears to wash ALL clean  

writing changes lives ... slowly ... 1 by 1  
where i’m at now: a far cry from that autumn 
where i ended in ‘intensive care’ ov a psychiatric hospital  
staff grudgingly allowed me to write scraps 
an attempt to keep hold ov recent events  
provided i had taken medication, sat 
at a specific place in the secure unit main-room, 
at set times & while supervised & no-one else was kicking off.  
any writing then locked in their office, the pen confiscated  
negotiating the paper under these conditions 
made me feel i was working samizdat 

words have fuelled so many velvet revolutions 
they are fuelling mine  
1st hospitalized age 13, last hospitalized age 35 
i have seen libraries where the poets heads are missing 
i have drunk the underground stories 
i know where everyone else is buried 
i’m the last, i had words & they didnt  

for this 1 nurse 1 flew over the cuckoos nest 
is all the staff training she needs  
and yu know how it is when they take against yu  
well ... theres this NF logo on the obs corridor wall  
and i want the damn thing off  
everytime i come out ma cell i see ... THAT  
need a marker pen to cover it over 
but all the markers are locked in the office so i ask, get ignored
medication.  she orders
when i’m ready.
the meds room is open now .  later it will be closed
and she steps in close, closer  
fingering the red crash button  
daring, daring me.  
flex ma fists, feel ‘em starting to pump  
she’s daring me to smack her  
i turn, punch out the wall  
but still the NF logo grins