Titan husk | living in the ruins of the city

Airless, still | resonant | trapped | the plants are slowly dying | there are no seasons | or the seasons are fudged | sometimes birds get in

Stagnant | unattended | pockets of space where time passes | little moves | auras build up | very particular

No sound of car horns blown on the breeze

Not even a dream stirs | there are no heads

The secretary waits by the photocopier

The lamp stays on | The screens | hold dead links and the TVs | show frozen scenes from ancient series

What the thoughts became | fragile skeletons, wings outspread

Rain and wind | and the forest | sways | thrashes to and fro | palm trees | for miles and miles and then | the coast

Dwarf city

Now | all kept in

the traffic, the clubs, police choppers | hovering over floodlit blocks | the ladybird | on the back | of a young girl’s hand | postage stamp | nine black spots and a scarlet message

In the storm | the mass and crush | the mill and grind | of saint and sin | immense | dinosaurs of crowds | lumbering, bellowing | intricate | personal | rituals by the washbasin | in mirrors cracked by previous tenants | shaving foam not wiped for weeks…

Airless, muffled, still

Sometimes

birds get in


from the series hypergrammar (open-ended, 2012–present)

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