Plus or Minus: The Stat of the Notion

Out of sight is out of touch. Walls remain broken as wages rise and letters blink from varnish to vanish, appeal to appal, mother to other. It’s all change at supermarket checkouts, counting coins and coining new clichés. Uneasy flies the head that wears a crow. Wagers are laid at the foot of the stair, the root of the star, the start of a beautiful friendship. A fiend’s ship finds itself aground around the coast of Costa Rica, counting the cost of mending, then ending. All’s well that ends; and ages rise and fall, and fail, and sail out of light. Ouch. Slaughter, they say, is the best medicine for the beast that beats in every breast. Touché.



Oz Hardwick
Illustration Nick  Victor

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