THE CULT COLLECTIVE

"Already I can curve my ribs over the water-sculpted edges of this place."

"Nobody can predict us — not the weather forecast, nor the space agency..."

"Smokeblue, your eyes pearl over – silken sculpture, lips sewn / Shut. Unheard confessions stain that train."

"I could see him frantically writing himself / into her unfinished novel."

"nothingness is creation, Dionysus tells"

"I leave the country the next day and wonder whether American films will be forbidden."

"Still is the frame of us, breasts out, carcass feet, heads lolling backwards, four dead daffodils."

"As a foreigner in Germany and someone whose early life was influenced by war, (...) I often wonder if I had a normal childhood."

Confessions from a time when there seemed to be no threshold of tomorrow.

Delilah Dennett — "I am indigenous. He is white. Yet it is his tears that splatter the pages."

"i still think quite often / about that afternoon in your garden / eating oranges in the sun"

"I remember how you stared at me / Amongst all that broken glass and wine; / And how I held my hand out, bleeding"

"But, you see, sadly I cannot juggle, / and two eyeballs are quite heavy things to hold in a palm"

A poem about a moment of confession, where everything changed.

The work revolves around notions of language-encryption, memories of nursery rhymes, word-plays and word-textures.