All things are gateways, and merely lead to other things
— Dustless

Denial of service | We never see | inside our own eyes

Floating desert | Wrap the moon in a passing heart | Waiting for a cancelled flight | The crematorium in mid-summer

Are you thinking?

Folding empty clothes | A polite sandstorm of the streets | Commuter days, the lost children | Hidden in plain sight | ghost trees chattering with voices | a pale dust | where roses flourished

Servants, more noble than their masters | Haze of blueprints | anglepoise | architects’ pencils | doodles of spooks | memories of Iraq, Palestine, Saigon

Folding a darkness | into an emptiness | into an emptiness | into emptiness

How will you connect them?

Waiting for her | A chain café | macchiato and Guardian | illegal logging | degradation of coral | no further inference to be drawn

Answerable to another moment, she can’t reach where she already is, having | already left | folding an emptiness | into a darkness | into a numbness

Under a leaf | in a windowbox | in London N1 | the gates of a cocoon | tremble | pushed from the inside | opened from the outside

Guessed presence | Bird singing | from the ghosts of trees

What were you thinking?


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

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