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do you know who I am
Emergence of another slushpile pattern: several poems in a row about the accumulation of plastic in the ocean.
On the basis of the noises my body sometimes makes, Ciro and I have decoded my hidden fairytale origin: I am a bag of leaves my mother sewed together and rolled in flour.
First nice day in a bit. Repotted some plants whose roots were becoming rings.
On the basis of the noises my body sometimes makes, Ciro and I have decoded my hidden fairytale origin: I am a bag of leaves my mother sewed together and rolled in flour.
First nice day in a bit. Repotted some plants whose roots were becoming rings.