Abandoned neural pathway

I found myself down a road I abandoned a long time ago.
I was hard enough for a little bit of ugliness
and a place where that feeling of impending doom made sense
or at least, felt less strange.

I went down that road again looking for the broken old house
You know, the kind that makes you think that after all,
there is room for the dead in this living world
—terrifying and beautiful, like the sea.

There I spoke to the dead old woman
Who refuses to think that she died and was supposed to go to heaven
and she laughs at me saying that I’m more dead than her.

“Don’t you know that it’s all a killing ground, everywhere?
What’s alive is what you put life into, 
and you’re here on a weekday, even before noon. So tell me who’s dead, child? Me, or you?”

2017, Maison abandonnée dans le lieu-dit La Pitonnière, sur la commune Le Teilleul, Normandie, France. 0x010C

Because we’re all satellites

Because we’re satellites

set free in motion by the want of life,


we drift,

we encounter,

we love,

we fall under.

We collide,

we cry.

We drift apart,

and fly far out

until the leagues in between 

dissolve the ugly,

and aurify the pain.






When the satellites cross again—

as if by chance,

as if new,

as if it was meant to…


As if.


Until then.



Image—Orbit by Kate Banazi

To the little Southern girl on the beach: Part two

It’s alright, catch your breath.

You’ve run so far, she can’t see your pain;

Your little friend- the prettier one

with scar-less skin

and a face that peaked too soon to kill

a human heart.


Babe, have you ever heard of the tale

of a little, ugly duckling that lived by a lake?

It’s true.

I’ve seen it living, breathing by a convent wall,

at a dancing class, a high school fair, and at last

growing between two little girls in the seaside South.


You know babe,

legends are made from truth,

flesh and clay.

How do you think

I know your story

so well?


Don’t worry little duck, you’ll do fine,

because pain teaches delicate things.

But, her…she’ll die a slow death in her heart.


In warped time and place

I’ve seen her married to an idea’s face and boredom,

because she never knew beauty’s labour.


Image – Dayanita Singh, Gayle and sister, Goa 2000/2005. Deutsche Bank Collection ©