On Holding

The wind pulls my hair / out from behind my ear / onto my face and so I set down / my book and push my hair back


The wind pulls my hair 

out from behind my ear 

onto my face and so I set down 

my book and push my hair back 

behind my ear but the wind 

flicks through the pages and throws 

my bookmark out onto the street 

and as I dart out to grab it 

takes the napkins and the empty muffin 

wrapper too and so I buoy-bob up 

and down across the ground around 

the table gathering them up 

and set them down under my 

coffee cup and find my page 

and mark it and push back 

my hair which the wind pulls 

straight back out again 

and I think I am so many 

loose parts I cannot keep 

from spilling onto this or any street 

and this is part of why I am so glad 

as you may have noticed 

when they are held by you. 

Farrago's magazine cover - Edition Two 2023


The harpsichords sound like skeletons. The wings of butterflies open and close like lungs. The trees are murdered for pianos. The dust in the abandoned antique store glows gently, as if made from the powdered skulls of fairies and changelings. Welcome to the weird and wonky world of Edition Six, Phantasmagoria. We bid you to tread carefully...

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