I ground myself directly in the middle, half way brittle legs and stone

it causes girls on the coast to convince themselves they love me

we attempted to cast our footprints again, but to no avail –

they were swallowed all too quickly

at some point, a map was coughed into existence

and the grasses then knew when to stop, and

how to become a tower

About Benjamin Norris

Published writer of short stories, long stories, poems. Well received art critic and cultural commentator for Berlin magazines. Collaborator with operatic societies. Co-writer of fictional historic psycholinguistic journals. Lecturer of architecture and art history at a Budapest University. View all posts by Benjamin Norris

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