carryon crunching down on a meal of gravel, my teeth, red raw and shattered, bawl with enamel duress. as i choke on bloodied regret. the ground caught my cheek in awkward landing.
the woodwork mirror an ill-bred design, assembled from comprehensive impatience: awkward geometry, and timber bruises of a badly managed sanding machine. triple angled plinth,
a strand i need a coastline, need to be able to hullabaloo, from the green land, to where the lapping fold of the water comes, hurrying ashore like a wild eyed refugee. lingering,
overbite they sent you out on the bus, to fetch a fluorescent tube. they’d paid for it over the phone, so they didn’t have to trust you with petty cash. they didn’t know
