I am just another pothole, // Feeling the weight of // That other invisible world // As it passes over me

To glean your teeming brain // It needs harvest // Or will rot

I am fascinated by a specific benefit AIs have for literature which, unlike in chess, is not harnessed enough. 

It’s 5.30am. You and the rest of the inter-B’s netball team are huddled on a coach in the dark.

What would the hill be but a dried steppe // On the falling back of an afternoon

I often dream of Lutīyā the cosmic whale.

My beloved has gifted us this water of life / This ocean which has the power to create or destroy / Yet in it we blindly place our trust

I find it in a soggy little cavity underneath footbridge.

"I realised that in order to find time to think and a view of what felt like the whole world, I had to be uncomfortable."