I’m a writer from New York City living in London. I’m known for unusual fiction and poetry with a strong narrative, heavy themes and dark humor. I promote introspection, trusting that the shadows inevitably carve a way to the light.


songs of possession – an audio chapbook of seven poems for seven years. Produced by Marc Plastic at Plastic Sound.


Fellow Travellers – writing as Miriam Lee, directed by David Yorke, produced by Just In Case Films. 67th Montecatini international short film festival (Winner) Best Experimental Short Film

YouTube 2018 Poetry readings from the British Library, O2 Islington, and Edinburgh Fringe

Self-published collections

An Endless Procession of Clouds (2017) – Debut poetry collection on sale here

front single - final upload

Women in Strange Places: Stories (2009) – A collection of nine short stories ranging from crime to the esoteric, all with women at the forefront. Available in paperback and ebook.


My work has appeared in Shooter Literary Magazine, Narratively, Barren Magazine, Alternautas, and Juste Milieu’s Issue #9.

My influences in writing, imagery and vocal delivery include Richard Matheson, Anne Rice, James Baldwin, Rod Serling, Joan Didion, Maya Angelou, Sara Gran, Edgar Allan Poe, Clarissa Pinkola-Estes, Eve Ensler, Angela Carter, Nicole Blackman, Pete Hamill, Chuck Palahniuk, David Fincher, David Lynch, Park Chan-wook, Alfred Hitchcock, Tarsem, Jae Matthews.

Headlights On in the Dark


A woman is crossing the desert on her own, going in and out of gas stations trying to get some food and keeps pick pocketing shiny things. She takes wire twine, boards, poles. She sits in a dim motel room stitching a piece of silver to the wooden pole and crying with a bit of blood on her lip. She waits around a lot, looking up, looking around, is sad.

The Chimp


The lab looked like a warehouse from the outside.

I was the security in the animals division. Among them, the chimps. I hated them. Their faces were hairy versions of mine and this scared me.

I came in every day at eight and left at five. This one chimp spent all its nights and days in a plastic box, maybe a 3 x 3 x 3 box. Slots at the top for air. It had a purple band around its neck. Tight like a choker, but not so tight it could die. It would wring its head side to side. It would pull at it. It took needles once an hour, various things. I never knew what. I never cared.

Establishing Shots


I remember when I was born. Most people don’t, but I do.

I remember a pale-deep redness and the undeniable feeling of not wanting to leave where I was – warm in the womb and enshrouded in a caul, which many cultures say is lucky. Protects from harm and death from drowning. Invites psychic abilities and emotionality beyond normal feeling. It’s said that us caul babies have access to The Other Side and can communicate with spirits. We are very in tune to the whim and will of the unseen.

My therapist assigns my hyperawareness to less mystical things. Anxiety. My childhood. And, the recent event that brought me to her doorstep.



My brother Elliot died last February of pneumonia. When I got the call that he was on his death bed I was lying on my living room floor, my head framed by three empty bottles of rum.

I caught a flight from Austin to Pittsburgh, and then sped south in a rented car to Langford, the industrial town Elliot called home. I thought it was too dark for him. It was surrounded by long-impotent mines, and the people there looked tired and ragged about something they could never talk about. For a man who wrote about living out of his car and disowning his social security number, I always wished he’d end up somewhere softer, maybe wilder, further into the woods.