We are actors in this state – hiding our hands, changes

in our birthform, blame the numbers:

for my shape and breaking bones are a lot like yours and


mine were scaffolded, incised and exhumed – they

cast me up and split me like fruit, I know

if you’d have seen it, we would have talked awhile


for lying on my chest and eating hair results in

careful studies of ankles, specially shaped flooring

in which we haunt a stage, pouring into days

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

8 responses to “glassward

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