She has that | DEER WANDERING THROUGH THE OUTSKIRTS OF THE CITY IN THE EARLY | quality of | MORNING LIGHT || The way she moves | a kind of | melancholy as if | she doesn’t belong | She’s | bare | and her nakedness is | very simple, the last port of call for | anyone true || Can’t fit her | into the evening | PUZZLE | she’s shy but not self-conscious, she just | finds it hard to trust things in a world made of | cars and ego | MONEY BUILDS ALL THE TIME AROUND HER AND EVERYONE KNOWS – nearly everyone – she needs to get away before the | sun rises | and the day | PRETENDS ALL THE LIES ARE TRUE, INCLUDING SHINING || Trains | leaving | everywhere

Music in my earbuds | fills my brain with | lotus blossoms and moments | whisked to a pale | froth | of subsiding and glistening… Jets scroll down parts of skies and | GEOMETRY LESSONS | all those people are | heading | away… | SO ANYWAY | Why can’t the world be more like records and songs? | The sun, shining so I can’t | think of | EQUILATERAL things | CHALK TURNS TO VAPOUR | And in any case, it’s | just different ways for things to end || and all the time | there’s more and | more | blue space | between us…

from the series bliss point | angels of disorder (open-ended, 2012–present)