( me / via )

The human Bat and the Robot gangster.

"Poetry is not a language. It is what traverses behind language. It is that thing that stretches under the skin and which you call a "chilling". Poetry are the words spoken between your hairs on end and the voice in the pit of your stomach.
Poetry is what flows down your eyes and you call loss" —@poemskontsa.bsky.social

Darkness on the Edge of Town.

"the land is dark, the sky is bright"

walls bulge · there are building blocks
made of leg cramps · crenellated
cinnamon rolls · in the sacred dark
move fathoms, armies · i am swept
in this ratty old chair · into chainlink
vistas gray · with the grin of winter

Contender for best photo I have ever taken.