Poem inspired by Surreal House show at the Barbican

This is the floor of my mind. The floor. You can curl your limbs and your mind as if in yoga. Fold up your thoughts, one by one, then undo the positions. The stove is hot. Don’t touch it. Don’t touch. And don’t surf. Or I’ll stab your hands with pencils. I mean it. GirlContinue reading “Poem inspired by Surreal House show at the Barbican”