poetry

My Old Fire

I changed my lipstick three times
ironed my shirt
borrowed my mum’s shoes.

21 May 2018
At the Back of Rowden White

A spacious, well-lit, and illuminated afternoon that
carries one forward through morose times
of dreary, unanswered dreams.

tooth collection

fertile ground
where trichor flown from bitten tongue lands
springs
emnous remnants a toothsome luxury
cthonia induced by friend nor foe alike;

3 May 2018
Dinosaur Exhibits for Confused 7-Year-Olds

I can tell you everything about natural history

Museums – the two kinds of dinosaur hips:

18 April 2018
My Feminism—More Powerful Than Two Cleopatras

I often find myself at a crossroads

Destined to be forever in the middle until I’ve come to decide which social construct

I wish to identify with

Galileo’s Finger

Now his finger itches
to hatch from its enclosure
of moulting skin, inch up
beyond the down lights
to the paper-thin sky,

Renewal

To be jettisoned into space,
disintegrating amongst the silence,
bleached & violated by cosmic tidings,
finally twinkling as stardust within the void.

TIRA EL CUELLO HACIA ATRÁS

TIRA EL CUELLO HACIA ATRÁS
y pregúntate qué fue de ella.

A Union

gossiping stars circling
I have only good intentions to tell
they shoot their way off into the abyss
all is bliss. all is well.

City Girl

Orange painted sunsets and
a depth of grey,
A canvas of molten
silver light
Sigh of smoke spilling
from her lips;
colourless in
the night,

19 March 2018
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