Prying off the boreds To fill the empty space Stripping the surface of dead wood, rusty nails Deconstructing shapes of its former function Form or function? Why can't he just have it all? The scrapped palette had been useful for carrying heavy loads had broad shoulders and big hips like a wooden workhorse Now found…Read more Palette
poetry
Writing on a Wall
Walk the burning street and live there. Unlikely alternatives forcing you to peel off sticky labels conveniently slapped where understanding wants to be. You don't know me. You don't know mine. No need for explanations. Chin up buttercup. You got this. * Resilience counts as a blessing for sure. For more poetic blessings head over…Read more Writing on a Wall
End-titled
“We were the people who were not in the papers. We lived in the blank white spaces at the edges of print. It gave us more freedom. We lived in the gaps between the stories.” ― Margaret Atwood, The Handmaid's Tale There are over 7 billion people in the world. I often wonder how many…Read more End-titled
Memotaph
Illusions of safety Attributable to income, incoming Building walls or mending fences? Buying organs, identities, nests Restoration Hardware without the rest Free People Anthro-pologies, we're sorry Batteries not included Starbuck junior If you're hungry They feed you the Body You can take me to church But the poor (of spirit of commerce) are the ones who…Read more Memotaph
Mum
It's Me! she said Like that store in Oak Bluffs A clever name ensuring identification would equate with profit It's Me! she said Of the shirt brother wanted Of the success sister achieved Of my crooked nose If it was not an extension of herself it didn't exist There are many things I can almost…Read more Mum
Love is.
Yesterday I bumped into some old writing; several thousand words chronicling the death of a decade which now looks like a worn out towel in my memory. It made me question love; why we need it, how to go about it, what it's for, why bother the risks. Last night I dreamt about an…Read more Love is.