they breathe silently, I do it too

at the edge of the estate, where italian counts

from all ages have come to

pass into the next life, I spot

the dirty coloured fortune teller. He has

been spreading lies about me

all over the

dreamscape and the image of my

privates have descended into a

new realm of poverty by his hand. I run

I run I run


chairs for revelry


, , ,

The horizon on another planet

is tipping over to where

we have our moon. a shaman is

watching for something

that has yet to happen. Musical notes

arrive, but as signals in the

sky. he leaps, knowing that this

is the one, but they don’t make much melody.

Your face tomorrow is grown

crooked and

slick, like an ice scuplture. It waited out in the rain and

then it got rusted as a

result. Your face is

like the sea, salty and

shifting, today you hold

life inside you, tomorrow, men will gather to smoke

at your lip. You’ll see it, you’ll

smell it. coconuts will

drop from your head.

the departure (extended)


, , ,

you call her a orphan, but

you know her father. the water over

top of their home was

heavy, but you know their mountain. the

lightning over their

arms was powerless, but you

know their

maker. When she says that

she has a word to speak, you forget

the language, when the sound comes, you

lose vision, hear strangers, touch demons. sickness

next to sadness.

auto tuned flora


, , ,

taking out a piece of chocolate,

the grandmother ate it

herself. She went to the shore of the sea

and took her hands into

the air. There was a breeze that she called her son

and then raindrops that she said were

grandsons. She swims to the edge of

her continent. The plates under the earth

mark the end of cocoa and

coffee, the end of slavery and candle wax. The

sun, the sea, one women, eternity.