oh
contexts
smearing
our hearts
oh
think hard
of proclub
Showing posts with label broken almond. Show all posts
Showing posts with label broken almond. Show all posts
Thursday
Monday
I met Nino at three in the morning, groggy and jazzled. Someone gave me the bathroom. I lugged my phone.
A couple days later I started something with beggars.
A few days later I went to the Tibetan Refugee Colony, a haven of bedpans, singing, banana pancakes and espresso. I couldn’t believe how cheap it was.
Nevertheless, Dilip and Suresh were increasingly checking: “They’ve only seen places like this from the other side.”
It overwhelms his whole sense of things, seeing it from the other side.
Nino took the ambulance beneath a flyover and got out to walk around. I carried my tripod down through a pile of rubbish to talk to them.
Her face was transfigured with the Old Delhi Railway. The sides of the bridge were zoomed in on a man half his side.
I had a frayed bandage that looked like a doctor.
He went for walks with me he couldn’t understand
The first week, an old man in the clinic was wrapped in a body that the doctors hadn’t bothered to patch up. Her belly was slowly healing, congealing into a fleeting, weak affection.
I took my camera to the shadow-ward with Nino's forehead.
I lowered the camera, surging with custody.
We wrapped the white sheet and branched off toward the river. Outside the attendant opened.
Rasheed always greeted me on video: a young boy’s naked fingers: you feel how tight his organs are?
Santosh did.
A couple days later I started something with beggars.
A few days later I went to the Tibetan Refugee Colony, a haven of bedpans, singing, banana pancakes and espresso. I couldn’t believe how cheap it was.
Nevertheless, Dilip and Suresh were increasingly checking: “They’ve only seen places like this from the other side.”
It overwhelms his whole sense of things, seeing it from the other side.
Nino took the ambulance beneath a flyover and got out to walk around. I carried my tripod down through a pile of rubbish to talk to them.
Her face was transfigured with the Old Delhi Railway. The sides of the bridge were zoomed in on a man half his side.
I had a frayed bandage that looked like a doctor.
He went for walks with me he couldn’t understand
The first week, an old man in the clinic was wrapped in a body that the doctors hadn’t bothered to patch up. Her belly was slowly healing, congealing into a fleeting, weak affection.
I took my camera to the shadow-ward with Nino's forehead.
I lowered the camera, surging with custody.
We wrapped the white sheet and branched off toward the river. Outside the attendant opened.
Rasheed always greeted me on video: a young boy’s naked fingers: you feel how tight his organs are?
Santosh did.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)