you are my bread
and the hairline
of my bones
you are almost
the sea

you are not stone
or molten sound
I think
you have no hands

this kind of bird flies backward
and this love
breaks on a windowpane
where no light talks

this is not time
for crossing tongues
(the sand here
never shifts)

I think
turned you
and you will
and shine
unspent and underground

Underground Flower reads Novembre Magazine
Vincent Guesthouse // Coventry Village, 19 February

w/ Torre, Rahul, Mirza, Nathan, Paola & Ava Phen ⁣⁣

Curated by Underground Flower
Images by Torre Alain & Ladislav Kyllar for ⁣
Poem by Diane di Prima

Dedicated to Nathan Larson Axelrod