Robin Bailey

Art by caarrp Snuggling up to your bedside manner, longing for that triassic cuddle; making myself known in all my endless acts of devotion: each vote of confidence spells out my name in a stunning display of electoral power (fireworks, or a star rising in the east- west coast). What if I laid my head on your shoulder? Is it so much to want common ground — by which, I mean, you on the ground, or me — pinned between knees, chests heaving, red cheeks & roses.

Art by caarrp come with me down foxholes, in hideaway homes. i can tell you stories, can bare to you my throat—or yours against mine. your words will have substance, soft in the hollowed-away substrate. we are swallowed down here.

Art by caarrp Are there people past the mangroves? Red root steeples pointing down below. Swamp beast made from mud & muck, teased by luck. Toes wriggle in the shallow all maggoty-like; heads of past passersby impaled on pikes. I have a few bad habits and more lost gods. Would you hole with rabbits, against all odds ?