Writings

Obscura

Sleeping in a bunker
I'm soaking in the horizon through a narrow slit
Over hours of exposure
the sea phases on the grain of the receptor

They left me here while they had tea

Knowing that when they'd come back
to take me apart
I would be dripping with light
permanently

Entitled

Stepping out of the photo booth
onto the lake
where there is no trace of me
my passport out of this quiescent cannon
the clean walls
the length of a few feature films
landed me here
awoken from the window pane
to uncover parallel prayers
this continent