Rebecca Tamás

Starlings collect and expand in small breaths,it is still early, and thick spring light is filtering in overthe stucco roofs, the wide squares, the tracks of water,the armless broken statues.

She is not dead, but here –long patterned skirt, hair coiled in green vibrating braids,slightly peeling skin, freckles, deep tan,violet silk slippers with a curt block heel.

Breakfast is hard cheese,...

You have burnt me too brown you must boil me again Veronica Forrest-Thomson

    i kept having this hunch that pleasure was a philosophy    but i couldn’t explain it       peach juice   going down   my cheek   wet penis hovering over the blue dip of my crotch...

the witches eat your book then you then everything