Friday, 29 May 2015


I came a long time ago

Have no friends

Just the streets and the sky

Do I feel alone? 

Sometimes in the afternoon

 Fleeting rush swerving around my skin.

Saturday, 23 May 2015



Where is she? In the small airless cupboard-sized room, or beneath the sofa burning candles to expel the wandering ghosts-always ready to steal her voice, perhaps on the bed petrified next to her mother's corpse, on the stairs dirty as mud, on the chair defying her grandmother, drinking ketchup directly from the bottle, showing her ass in front of the cracked mirror, spitting on the face reflected. Where is she?


Sunday, 3 May 2015


She walks around looking for a trace, a sign of a long forgotten sky.