As I fall from a smoky tower of maple,

Sawdust in my palm lines vanishes

Under cool running water.

I am one great farmer’s tan

In the wind, unemployed, overjoyed.

My eyes feel vacuumed. I should sprint

Until they begin to water again.

Shaping a story in my mind, I draw

From the windowpane of a distant house.

I dream its chimney holds my chest fire,

Its wallpaper my love letters, then awake —

Carrying it whole in my unwritten story.

My eyes feel vacuumed. I should watch the sky

Until the city violates my view.

My senses depart — five beads of blood

Against a split projection of my unbeing.

I push forward with cheeks flushed,

As if the beads of blood were forever burned

Into the skies, visible like an eclipse, depending

On what side of the world you ran from.

⬤

Crumbling City

Respite

Illusion of Control

Kneaded City

The photographs were taken in various municipal centers and forest regions of Greece, circa the 1980’s. Spontaneously defaced by permanent markers, these photos symbolize how, using perception, the past can be altered to complement one’s present state of mind.