Tiny Fruit:

“We could see the world for empty pressure,

Or imagine the kaleidoscope particle shower we bathe ourselves in, every moment.”



“Give me cigarette burns.

Garments with old songs in their memory,

Sweat through from mosh pits

And blurry nights swinging hips in a hazy club,

I want to raise a collection of stories in textile color.”

The Bell and the Anvil

Intuition provides all the sense one could need to go somersaulting

Into a circumstance beyond your wildest dreams.

A sudden trip to Shakespeare’s Globe,

A drum circle on the bank of the Thames lit up by fire-spinners,

An explosive street fight between gangs of different sweatshirt colors.

And that’s just one night of being tapped into the flow, with as many more to come as I have beats in my heart.


The gurgling murk is a manger obscene

Filled up with emotional cocktails’ canteen

Of anger and spite where confliction careens,

So we never ask why, or ‘what does it mean’?

And thus dash our hopes down of returning to clean.”