the sleuth watched from upstairs,a hidden alcove giving them adiscreet viewpoint as a minor act of defenestrationwas committed.the smartphone landed withbarely a sound. gritting their teeth against triskaidekaphobiathey made their way down the thirteen stairs running into the matriarch of the house,an agelast with a blank gaze. she sighed, must you continue this dolor on my home?the sleuth …
petrichor
the detective doffs his hat,observes the petrichor rich in the air -the window’s left open, careless,it rained last night, a real deluge,someone tells him.he slips into a state of accismus,observes the patterns of the uxoricideto which he was called and askedto solve.some overlord’s hand at work, he thinks,builds a profile,watches for someone to confecttheir story.
vulnerable
she collects pebblesuntil her hands are stiff. her fingerscramp up from inspecting themand her skirt pocket tears awayunder the weight. at home she tucks theminto corners, glues themin place. triesnot to breathe in the fumes. the leather satchel is torn,strips of material peeling awayin placesand she kicks it under the desk. home is familiar,with its …
ties that bind
read the labels,map out a blueprint in red andwrite your ownInstruction.(need a tetherto reality,but don't we all?) weave togethera chain:loops linked to each other.(do you know,you're holdinginfinityin your hands?) braid a rope, shaky-handed:tricky, smooth, glossy:finer attention to detailrequired.ambition,vital. drift through the yearschain-and-symbol(infinity)looped around your neck.(double-infinityon your wrist) pretend to betetheredto the world;anchored toreality. (here is …
rain day
watch her:she is therain. watch as shecomes and goesat a whim,flittingthrough the atmosphere. she has themotion of someonewho knows:she's transient. taps at thewindow,light and playfuland clear. Thisis nothingsubstantial. (not even enoughof her presentto appeasethe gods) see her playjabbing the windowwithsuchtiny hands. this timeshe is substantialenough. enough toappease you,the gods,Whomevercrosses her path. now -watch.see her batterthe …
street’s memoir
silent observer,are you tired yet?let me help youtell your story. here, you saw the couple:young.in love. arguing andmaking up. there, a girl trailed throughthe rain - let the bussplash waterat her feet. and here you sawthousands of peoplegoing about life. speak, please - sorry, i forgot.you're silent. leave me myguessing game: i shall make up …
unwinding
she unwinds from the daythe moment she walksin the door. shoes are kicked off andlain on the rack;keys, deposited in a bowl by thedoor and bags droppedunder the table. the stiff blazer is droppedover the back of a chairas she walks in sock-feet tothe lounge. swaps suits for worn-outcottonand tugs a blanket off theback of …
wanderlost
she flicks the mapthat takes up one-third ofwall space.on her desk, there's aspinning globe: sometimesshe taps it to set it rotating. unfocuses her eyes and lets the worldblur past. she makes a list,writing alphabetically,reverse-alphabeticallyand flips it around again. scrambles the order, calls uponline travel literature. in the evening shecrams in language, makesflashcards of grammar. she'll go …
the cave
a cave formsin the forest.sometimes, in her modest moodsshe calls it a backyardbut miles offlora isn't a yard. she takes a backpack andlaces up hiking shoes.if she walks too fastthey clip at her anklebone.sometimes, the bruiseslast for days. if the weather permitsshe reaches the cave,half-formed though it is.when she first came hereit didn't existand she …
after midnight
at 2 a.m., there's totalstillness.the curtains are drawn,heavy and thick, blocking outall light. in the quiet of the cottagethere's no stimuli.no traffic, no sirens rushing bysetting the night alight withcoloured noise. outside a cicada chirpsthen falls silent. there's nothing. in the bleak dark of nightthere's nothing to see,no need for pretension.no need to do anything.
write one craft one 
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