essays | fiction | poetry | photography | art
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:
yesterday blew
like a wind
tell me the main differences between salt and nothing.
i will tell you the similarities. i will tell you i need both.
A scream is trapped under my third rib where they perch on
like a perilous branch. I daydream of
You: hands on my throat
me: telling you I love you
Erin hesitates, watching. The old woman is there again, sitting on the swingset overlooking the valley
You know the opposite of moonlight is a nest woven by darkness,
and you know your heart is a place where people ache,
where people no longer feed their birds on fire.
what it would be like to be a skeleton.
what would happen if each dermal layer melted into the air
& my red stop light flesh went with it
without so much as a snap, crackle or pop?
love is not you but a driving beat disguised in fast-moving glamour
You make a landscape with tiny things
Turn late-night buns into morning seas
we are wrestling for the same
hooks in time
we are bitter catches
broken holed and punchy
My inkscapes explore the transition between boundaries and intimacy; what it means to yield and to resist; to begin and end.
Porridge 