wrapped
26–09–21
26–09–21
I wasn’t expecting to cry.
I laid a stake in theses cobbled streets the way an astronaut plants a flag on the moon.
Look at you Sarah, look at how you’ve grown: thick-skinned, silver tinsel in your hair, money just numbers floating in the air.
A temporary installation.
A temporary summer.
A temporary life.
I laid a stake in theses cobbled streets the way an astronaut plants a flag on the moon.
Look at you Sarah, look at how you’ve grown: thick-skinned, silver tinsel in your hair, money just numbers floating in the air.
A temporary installation.
A temporary summer.
A temporary life.
home
29–08–21
29–08–21
you cannot tether a free spirit
you cannot saddle a wind horse
you don’t have to tell me
darling
that chasing el sol
beats
watching the seasons
but
when sprouts spring
and blossoms bloom
with words like petrichor
the world exploding from grey to green
rewarding you for all your suffering
and when the leaves begin to fall
and summer whispers prophetic sweet nothings
just before her final breath
it’s all the orgasm
that I’ll ever need.
you cannot saddle a wind horse
you don’t have to tell me
darling
that chasing el sol
beats
watching the seasons
but
when sprouts spring
and blossoms bloom
with words like petrichor
the world exploding from grey to green
rewarding you for all your suffering
and when the leaves begin to fall
and summer whispers prophetic sweet nothings
just before her final breath
it’s all the orgasm
that I’ll ever need.
entre les falaises
24-05-21
24-05-21
I could enunciate the details of every single rock that sunk
and clamored beneath our feet
craggy but soft
eroded by a hundred years of salt baths
each and everyone of them called out my name
I put two of them in my pocket.
“Hold onto those rocks,” you said
“They’re sacred.”
Clenching them in my fists
I feel the rumble of the ocean
the wind in my hair
the fetid smell of algae and seaweed
the soft ripple of tide pools
no matter where I am.
and clamored beneath our feet
craggy but soft
eroded by a hundred years of salt baths
each and everyone of them called out my name
I put two of them in my pocket.
“Hold onto those rocks,” you said
“They’re sacred.”
Clenching them in my fists
I feel the rumble of the ocean
the wind in my hair
the fetid smell of algae and seaweed
the soft ripple of tide pools
no matter where I am.
ectoplasme
28-01-21
28-01-21
The way you wrapped a tea bag around the handle of a coffee mug.
The way you’d crush the bottle before throwing it in the bin.
The way you added a little water to the pot before heating the leftovers.
These are the things that I’ll keep with me forever.
The way you’d crush the bottle before throwing it in the bin.
The way you added a little water to the pot before heating the leftovers.
These are the things that I’ll keep with me forever.
humans in the parc de la poudrerie
07-20
07-20
The leaves vibrating in the trees muffle the sounds of a not-so-distant civilization. Faint echos of human children, an ambulance siren, a whinnying police horse: timeless and familiar human sounds.
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