BOOKENDS; UNDER PARIS

  Caught is the consciousness in this constant climb, in this city of constrictions and its current that constricts and I can’t catch a breath. And the barricades have broken. Baffled by the beat my feet can’t follow and I am swallowed, sinking in this city of stone swamps and its concrete that compresses and […]

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BOOKENDS; THESE ARE NOT MY SHADOWS

  You cannot go back, to return does not mean to rerun, I recognise these streets, I can recall a certain laugh, a twisted lie, an open door, but my footprints have changed. I cannot find the same sunflower I drew when I was younger than this youth I now cling to and so many […]

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BOOKENDS; MINUTES MOVING

  There are but minutes now, minutes in motion on metros, minutes moving in on me, on my identity, on my mark, on my leaning, on my meaning, meaning I am moveable, like a feast, as he said; A Moveable Feast, meaning I am manageable malleable, maybe unremarkable, mistakable. There are but minutes now, there […]

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