Pylons, The honeybees of a developing city Over flowerbeds and bike racks Making way for city plots and Parking lots, and 40 storeys– Tales tales Which wake us in the Early morning Cracked concrete and reversal beeps. Playgrounds removed And replaced, Children displaced, Our rent rising As old homes fall.
Dark and fertile Is my skin for gardens to flourish. I am the soil’s second-cousin.
For all the friends I tore up, When I was torn up. I’m sorry for your scars.
Sick love Bites tongues And kisses lips without Sincerity.
“Nevertheless, in every kind of human communication, there are always going to be things that one cannot translate. No matter what the language, there are gaps and absences.” “I became very interested in these kinds of vacillations and in how they are expressed through physical places and psychics states.” “Once I was able to…
I disappeared for a moment, didn’t I? I’m not sure what difference it’ll make if I say sorry, so I won’t do that. Although I haven’t been posting characters or new blog posts that doesn’t mean I’m not working on new things.But, I’m back… sort of. I’m currently curating and writing for an upcoming exhibition…