top of page


Wall-mounted radical lemon cumlaugh — people need mountains.  
Sense of place increasingly mouse window — the instrument revealed
less than it needed to. A teaspoon of pesto 
should be sufficient to fill the belly button
of the househusband, but wait: we should reinvent gentleness,
all of the gates having shrunk overnight, leaving us trapped 
inside of gardens we designed when we were children.
I can feel my fear breathing; can you? It’s music.
Podiatrist-sniffing apology disguised as the alpine
layer — people need mountains. People need air
inside of their tongues. The lights are quite able
to take care of themselves, unlike the tiny bone
in your foot that is broken.
Do you want the dominant
mode to be regret or

tree stump for sure.
The smell of paper.
The accidentally perfect
shopping cart choreography
enacted by perfect strangers — followed by sobbing. This blizzard
we get lost in, does it love us back?
The cardinals are the carriers of the kink.
I am proud of you, still being able to fall
asleep naturally and all.
They will carry this away too when we’re not watching.

 Mikko Harvey

bottom of page