Read extracts from Skin below:


From Cells

The ultrasound gleans
rib-light and coral fingers;
your heart a quick fish.

From Miniatures

You call along our ginnel to catch its echo
the way you caw at rooftop crows
or blow my arm to try the sound of skin,
or slap your hands against this mossy wall.
Vowels fan out like petals around you.

From Wicker

Squat, green bulbs, bitter
as smoke, I offer you figs
from Sheffield’s east end.
They have exile’s toughened flesh
and skin; its deep-cut bloodline.


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