A surreal poem of hair, forks, and lightning, moving through strangeness, transformation and crossing.
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Her hair forks into little lightning. One lens is night, the other a red noon. Stars sit on an orange wall like stickers on a child’s report. She keeps her mouth composed, a verdict withheld. Blood freckles her collarbone; they won’t apologise. The room tilts toward her and freezes mid-breath.
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A dark poem of sorrow, passes, and storm, holding fear, fracture and survival in view.
A reflective poem of share, hush, and turquoise, exploring change, memory and inner weather.
A surreal poem of wore, herself, and shoulder, moving through strangeness, transformation and crossing.
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