The vendor’s fruit cones the street into spirals of bananas and plums. A sticking heat fingers hairs on skin in oily sweat. And lights at night hallow...
Continue ReadingWhat is life? A slow gathering cloud that fills with grief that small speck on the horizon of youth. What is life? That swelling of the lid the swill of salt...
Continue ReadingThis room is closed and in the tropics the afternoon air is morning’s regurgitated moist. There is no breath to catch and thin air clings to shapes and shadows...
Continue ReadingEat the waffle. Notice the child pleading another. Notice not, as others do, the bin bag flapping around inscriptions to our fathers’ discovery. See him not as others...
Continue ReadingWashed-up and out his smell adrift. Driftwood becomes as nothing dry breathing sticks an oddity kicked over in salt and sand. Yet, unseen, now he conducts...
Continue ReadingTides of silk shot with gold the shimmer of jogging lycra, glamour not his smell. Between double thick waffles sweating he weaves a walk. Notice this:...
Continue ReadingThe texture of your touch or these hands upon your back trace down the paths of words – their surfaces worn with use – their depths reflecting...
Continue ReadingWas there a moment before the joy in your face blotched my skin? Surely there were weeks before Solitude sat sullen on the bedside sick of making excuses...
Continue ReadingFoolish are passers by on dirty streets where life is dark and dried like fruit the sky and street each other’s nipples lick of heat rising of bonnets’...
Continue ReadingThe taste of melon: a texture light and pale yellow sun peeping through slices of veined glass. Eating from the inside out we’re gnawing through tastes...
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