Fading like cheap fast fashion finds at the laundromat It is comforting to listen: Consistent squelching and intermittent beeping Facilitate the end. I'm wrung tense and left to dry in my own time, ruffled, wrinkled, and discoloured.



I dream of far flung places – the recesses of my memories – old cornered crooks of dusty hardback books cataloguing misspelled spaces and smells of Annalise.   In January she smelled of February, was swatches of the sunshine and paint chips of witty quips I’d use to brush my cheeks though I’d rather stain… Continue reading Annalise


You are the origami craftsman cleverly concealing layers under folds. You only reveal your sharpest tips, Your strongest wits To protect inside those crumpled paper bits. It’s a little bit disconcerting, I should think, That beautiful’s only whole. But this whole time you’ve spent alive seems much entwined in building paper holds. And that, I… Continue reading Origami

The Pattern On My Pants

I look at the pattern on my pants and I'm reminded of the permanence of complexity. And furthermore how useless my vision is that it cannot turn paisley into pinstripe no matter how long or hard I stare. It's simply an unfortunate circumstance that they were ever pants at all. Why, then, does it matter… Continue reading The Pattern On My Pants