steampunk heart

Void Rage:The Patriarchal Self: (i)

February, 2022.

Thirty years ago almost to the day I sat in Bristol’s Berkeley Square in early spring sunshine wondering what my chances were of being allowed to write my doctorate up as a continuous narrative, embedding my findings within

today at the shapeshifter cafe

today at the shapeshifter cafe

cold winter gave forth cats

and dead brown leaves of ivy

dripped honey balm

for the restoring of lost souls

 

spiders glad to be loved

danced finespun vials

for sweet elixirs of birdsong

liquid

prelude : winter solstice

this solstice prelude you said

of the last dark days

 

a song I thought

 

but I can’t read the music written

on these cold bones of winter

 

char grey stump once tree

dank mud birdfoot glyph

windstripped