Apartment 271
After Meret Oppenheim Steaming in gazelle, espresso in a fur-lined teacup clipped just less than an inch scowling on the dresser. She gullets fuzzed brown innards with a Levonelle & a little salt (a day later) three p
Rubber Fire
Horizon catches the cap of our neighbour’s fire oiling gashes through wood floorboards spiked with old plimsolls. The deadliness is in the sunsink behind the flames: in things suspended there is so much space quivering from absence into being. Strange faith. I tap your shoulder to ma
Eggshell
Today she has scarcely moved. If there is understanding then that is what she feels this chrysalis Sunday, where new quiet doesn’t boom anymore – his echoes are softer, and she dusts them off into the bubbling boiling with the eggs. Three timid spines crest the water. She raises them carefully,
