Green Hips

The slopes that rise and fall With our breath between them Are a sihloutte of green hips On the horizon: Suspended across the skies In an effortless sprawl, They are wild thighs To the wondering mind As a pen is to paper The incarnation of daydreams.

A Letter To Loneliness

On many occasions I have tried to find the moment of ‘solitude’ that directors write into desolate scenes. Believing that we are all thoroughly interconnected, I have found it utterly impossible to feel alone, however, or even marginally dissatisfied in the company of strangers. Thoughts inspired by Marx and Hegels documents on art and being as a social entity.