CAVE OF SWALLOWS Imagine a man with a blue parachute leaping into the darkness. The tips of your fingers leak. The droplets roll to the ground, carving pathways for your body. Now in the pit of my chest something winged and delicate stirs. It has no bones. It sees with music. I remember,
FOREST ROAD 46 one smeared spine cloud across the sky the river noise is competing for my thoughts I am almost too naked for my own good the texts reassure me that everyone has belly rolls with luck under the sun I will burn and something will be revealed to me under this
Do you remember when you were born? It was 10:30am and a gloriously sunny St. Patrick’s Day morning. You were due to enter the parade of elderflower cordial, fungi, French beans, garlic, Ninja Turtles. You marched with your best friends, Spider Stacey and Cuchulainn. You played a tin whistle and demonstrated the spirit of punk.