she occupies the cusp where shoppers exit bringing out privilege’s bright shadows filmed in plastic the weather pretends nothing here no friends no green lace no cushioning from glare see fingers bared to frost-wounds like bloodied stars and skin broken open in climate’s heave & yaw amongst this dirt, this raw rasp of pavement life … Continue reading Mary


a rush of light between buildings and everything is white or black or singed with silver like a knife’s flash or a fish’s leap and there I am age 8 and the river is weeping while trout heave and thrash on death lines under a quiet sun Written for Twiglet # 281 "quiet sun"