‘by art one is more deeply satisfied and more deeply used up’
thomas mann, death in venice
Always living in a foreign country means little pinches
hurt so much. Deep in the crevice of
solitude, baskets lumpy with boring
amusement – come on then, sit on my lap
brown & strange
raincoat – we’ll look at beige seafood
together. Erotic voyage of comfort
despite my loafing around, eye
sockets trotting foreign streets, throwing up
wet monuments & still cafes & broken marble
dribbling cubes of burned sugar over my shirt. You should have
seen me when he claimed to be you
pulling my hand into the matchstick church. Both of us were
surprised my body followed.
.
Blossom Hibbert
.