when a father is a control bar
made of wood
and the strings snap
the puppets fall
essays | fiction | poetry | photography | art
when a father is a control bar
made of wood
and the strings snap
the puppets fall
. True crime, by its very titling, leads audiences to believe that they are consuming something inherently true in nature. True crime is categorised as a non-fiction form of media, regardless of the means of communication – whether it be written or visual. This alleged truthfulness raises intellectual and moral ambiguities. The rate at which…
Their heads out, curved eyes on us,
reciprocating the salty, convex cabin.
Look, there, beautiful wooden bowling balls, said my mum.
There are days when my body is a forest of old pines ailing and wailing in unison
Dissecting the Heart of Mandu The Chinese, Mongolians, Japanese, and now the Americans and Europeans are in my food, but are the Turkic nomads there as well? Intriguing and exciting. A mandu (만두) is a Korean dumpling. A savory dumpling with a filling of meat. It’s usually boiled but it can also be steamed, pan-fried,…
the future is ready for
our, now available,
technological improvement
He was a black hole in a suit. An abyss in a necktie. And he sat down next to her on the train.
I’m a mess
A profaner of tombs
Devoted to graves
Except mine.
we kiss good-bye;
I wait for the kettle to boil. I am
happily waiting.
Pieces of me are escaping
through the pores
in the skin
of this room
I sleep on the left side of the bed
so you can be on the right
the soft drum of your snore
signaling peaceful dreams
making me smile
From prawn to prawn
the rib dries
unbleached,
aching this unbaked line: