Goldfish
Living is like a turtle shell growing around a plastic bag
Poetry
spring
in an ancestral language i never learnt
Doctor Storm
I am here because I can’t sleep when it’s dark, / maybe in an hour I will be tired.
Exposition
I survived a knife between my ribs, / strings cutting into sponge-berry flesh, / blooming rose wound around my wrists.
Eco Punk
Hearing about another extinct species, I do a line of hope
to the ends of the earth
i will take your hand. / smooth my thumb over the callouses / liver-spotted, amber nails cracked from worried teeth
elegy for the walkable city
where do we go, where do we belong