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Nostalgia
I kicked a pebble down the pavement, Skipping over daisy chains and chalk. Stumbled over supermarkets by accident. Guess that baby buggy is the real art. Someone’s selling painted rocks on flipped bins, i payed in Freddos and mum’s buttons. Swirling yellows, dotted pinks, glitter. This will look nice as a paper-weight. Back then, it’d…
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The Difference That We Breed
Lingering is loudness, screaming solitude in sleep. Do you hear them? Do you see it? The difference that we breed? Trustfall on the walls, they’ll stay still, be mute. Lean on their bricks, though; their cries are fine loot. Stampede across cobble floorboards They’ll wince but not stir. Dance dust on their crevises, however, hear…
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“Am I Doing This Right?”
“Am I doing this right?” He cries, his eyes wide in wonder. “Am I doing this right?” She’ll ask as her newborn son comes around. “Am I doing this right?” But those are not his first words. “Am I doing this right?” And her camera clicks his first steps. “Am I doing this right?” “Welcome!”…