when i was a grasshopper child

from rooms of curved mirrors they
would speak softly of
anamorphosis

i press my chest against
the wooden table
stretching out into
clear blue sky

the sailors warn of
red sky approaching
from an angle not our own

still,
we leap into action
for fear of existence
being squashed under heavy feet

my breath is quiet
with realisation that
i am just slime
when annihilated

——–

critiques people. come on. and if anyone can tell me the artist, extra points. without peeking.

it’s the weekend. i am alone for the whole weekend. i miss writing. i miss photography. i think that maybe i should buckle down and get some shit started.

also: i need submissions for verb-ate-him so pleeaaase send me stuff. i can’t get the first issue out without submissions.

overall: it’s time to do some hard work. i think it will feel good.

xo;