a navel twists vertigo, a two way door, senses gripping the edge of one place, slipping into the unknown of another.

awakening, the birdsong carrying the steep law, in tow a morning with a heart richer than even that lover folded awkwardly in the young...

the trenches remain through living rooms and yards and living is lost, gutted by algorithms of defence

worn thin, abrasion carrying off the skin others read for your worth, and through the hole the hungry weeds come up for air.

interruption is as much part of the process as flow, run aground, stillborn, not cherry, the cross thread of expectation

the thrust of green, swathes burgeoning, swallowing: the monopoly tips dis-ease, displacement of other worlds

stretching out your hand sweeping a circuit of possibility running a furrow like a wolf in an enclosure

a twist of fiction and beetle was beetle in Dahls peach with grasshopper rolling me from the hill to the shore

life is a cycle of retention and release. We finger an internal docket that tasks the clean

looking up, without adjusting the aperture attention jars from the micro to the macro, a rupture that floods in loneliness. attachment...

i still taste in may the log-jammed adrenal fever of exams, and the chestnut froth of city parks