Reading broken, writing drunk: an open letter to Clementine Von Radics

    Your books are maps. This is what I understood. I never went anywhere without a poem lest I lose myself in places where girls like me should not be lost. Places like the cleavage. Or clavicles. Places like love. Or worse – possession. Places like wounds that must be tended to, and places […]

For all things that must end 

I am now thinking of what marks finality.   I believe sometimes it can be just where you… Well, stop.  That should be enough to say ‘it is done with.’   Of course nothing is ever truly done with, not as long as there is memory, and attachment, and possession. We may hold on to […]

You return at impossible times

  The memory of you remains an ever-fixed mark on all I see. The image of your face recalls itself with delicately woven fibers, patterning the windows in my house and the frozen glimpses in hallways, pathways, byways.  I cannot look at my own face in the mirror without seeing your fingerprints stamped upon my neck. Tiny […]

You cannot forget what is beautiful

I met her just twice. Light banter, heavy thumps of heart beat. Wit. Candour. Verbal jousts. I always win those. And everything that follows, I lose. There wasn’t going to be any more. There couldn’t possibly be. But I always wish and hope in the bleakest of bets that a tide may turn for once […]