///  a perilous deception

a collection of new texts and audio work exploring the physicality of farm labouring, the perils of pregnancy and Welsh coastal mythology


Read by Angharad Williams
Published through



My tongue is dry.

The other life on board stretches
and begins to pulse.

I know that I’m tired, but aren’t we all.


The beat started as a clot,
a coagulation,

a slow solidification from a liquid

to thick viscous then solid state.

It’s become a dried clump of material
and it’s wedged.

I focus on the vessel.

The hollow tunnel, the transporter.

There’s a blockage, a block.

A no go pass.

My body aches.

It’s located deep in my ribs

as the breath catches in my throat.

I’ve been waiting,

waiting on my back for my body to naturally dissolve.


Slowly my head nods and falls,

the bees have escaped from
behind my retinas.

I choose to rest my eyelids.


Sometime later I wake with the sun burning my face

and perilous squawks above me.

They are circling.

Now is the exact time to panic.

The rocks dig into my spine, and I violently heave

myself and my cargo from side to side,

yet to no avail.


My legs are locked at the knees,

and I’m dangerously isolated.

No trucks, no wellingtons, no dogs in sight.

Two of them land a foot from me,

greedily watching me struggle.

They cautiously claw tap towards me.


It’s swelteringly hot below my coat, and once again

I shudder erupting into involuntary vibrations.

Yet I know my weight is too much,

I force my shoulders and hips forward

but I have no momentum to turn.


I clam up.

And slowly I feel them settle upon my shins.

I kick out as they beginto navigate

over my swelling stomach and torso.

They come to rest on my pulsing neck.

Their claws grip my throat.

I freeze.

I tighten every muscle,

then burst into a cascade of bucks.

For a moment I’m elated as they take flight above

me and I collapse exhausted in the clear silence.

But my shoulder blades arch back into the grass

and my legs lock tight before me.

I’m stranded on my back.

A moment passes.


They settle again.

This time above my head, out of sight.

I strain my neck away

as I hear them approaching.

Then one sharp slice of my lip

and a beak plunges deep through my eyelid.

The pain sears my skull, as two harsh levers

prise and clamp around my eyeball,

and with slow force and suction I lurch forward

as another intense acidic pain erupts

through my sister socket.


I black out.


I wake with the dew on my face,

sight seared shut,

ears pricked.





Read by Angharad Williams
Published through

It’s 5.30am, 
and mum just got sick in the sink.

She couldn’t make it to the bathroom.
This is unusual.


I woke up because of the noise of the pipes,
but it’s the helicopter that is keeping me awake,

and the sound of the wind.

My legs are still braced.

I crawl into her bed to check she’s ok.


We talk through the plan of the day.
Shearing, childcare, hospital visits.

I didn’t know we planned to
shear the ewes in December.

I don’t feel sick.
But my stomach is weak,
it cautiously flips.

Its because of the opioids,
a dosage with prolonged release.


I have an intolerance,
a hypersensitivity,

and now an inability to drive heavy machinery.

I’ve been watching my skin crack.



I’ve been told undesirable effects may also include:

decreased appetite,
abnormal dreams.

And there’s a base line,
a persistent level of soft sickness,
which lies out of focus.


In the 90s when I was at college,
the bay was featured in a lads’ magazine article.
“The most suicidal beach in the UK.”

I’d always assumed you’d jump
from the top of the hill by the car park,
where all the Samaritans signs are.
But mum says it’s most likely the viewpoint,
overlooking the cove.

We discuss the rescue helicopter.
She says it’s been out there since 3:00.

It’s been a long time since I’ve been back here,
and I had forgotten this happens so often.
Too often, she says.

And always on a Monday,
after domestic incidents at the weekend.

blades overhead,
clifftop search patrols,
ribs tracking the coast.


Everyone local knows.



euphoric mood,
decreased libido,
drug dependence.


The stationed police officer said he went from
Witch’s Point,

after an earlier attempt at
Temple Bay.

He’d been called in as missing
so relatively speaking they found him quickly.

And because of the abandoned car,
and a child’s toy they found on the path.

The papers reported it followed
an incident at the office Christmas party.


facial flushing,


I read that vertigo is another uncommon side effect,
and mood lability.

An emotional response that is irregular
or out of proportion to the situation at hand.
Expressing outwardly what contradicts the internal.

Leaving infants born to dependent mothers.