Woodbine

by | May 10, 2016 | Photography, Poetry | 0 comments

 

 

WOODBINE

 

27/02/16

bruised necks,
9 am
Eastbound.
the crusty subway.
the light pours across your face
and for a moment you exist in bliss.
I am too slow with the camera for you to remember.

wrong bus stop
92, south?
“the more [our city] disappears the more it appears.”

pastel stones &
broken shells.
we are thieves of the ocean floor: we stash our favourites
to remember the sound
of the waves when we are drowning in skyscrapers.