Grace comes home
drunk sometimes
and beats on the doorway
to my guts
I fumble with the lock
’til a wound opens up
and she falls in,

‘Honey, I’m home’

I wince
as she stumbles up my spine
and leaves a trail
of bruises on my ribs
I choke on her
dancing on my tongue
as she kicks out a tooth

‘Honey, I’m home’

She lights a cigarette
inside my head
and blows all the smoke
into my eyes
until she sees a tear
and then she sighs

‘Just what I thought,
another fragile Buddha’


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In the Press

Razor-sharp improv. Lurking amid the minutiae of his observations on life and the Universe are some startling insights. Davis pulls off the most elusive of party tricks...Even the gods were grinning.

-Irish Times, Dublin Ireland