We pan out to all the gods’

forgotten and wasted towns. Streets

are scatted with broad-hipped women,

crawled in from other lands. They come


and come again to steal our kids

and hack off limbs, to cram in boxes

dull, industrious lives. Beaches

stretch out to skies


filled with terracotta and the days

when we nestled in the space

between native breasts, drinking

and taking love as if it was ours.


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

5 responses to “homes

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