Octopus I am one Like short of being beautiful. Five hundred more Followers, I’m away to fight culture wars. I Block two for lies Quora does not verify. Counter-factuals are ok, there’s simmering wastelands to make out of vague, but someone sent a shroom...

It doesn’t trust paper. It writes itself
in my head where no one can reach it,
laugh, tear it to shreds, or
call it a waste of space, a disgrace.

It was a quiet day—
no bad news,
no sudden loss,
no reason to hold my breath.

I think today of the boy in choir class
who closed his eyes when we sang
about Jesus. Who swayed, as if the Lord

We saw a kingfisher threading the bright needle
of his body along the river. We saw a shag, stamping
her prehistoric shadow on the sky. We saw a hobby,

My double sits before me now. I stare deep into her, as I do every day after midnight. When I raise my hands, she raises hers.

Even though I only once traced your streets with my own feet,
you wandered into my dreams anyway
sliding in through my grandmother’s stories,

She wills his brush in colour
and chalking, fierce hued flaws,
which fall flat on the canvas