Copyright Urban Mole 2017
I’m eight and I might be the only boy with a pigeon inside his head. It’s like blowing air into empty bottles: a sound behind my eyes, as far back as my ears, but a bit more towards the top. Hu Huuuu Hu, hu hu.
Childhood
Traffico
Copyright Karin Mora 2016
In Italy, a tick rode a doe across a camber very early, before most commuters were up; before people knew there were deer in the city. It was safe: I was driving; I could stop; the road was clear. The doe walked like a jay in that it disregarded zebras and islands and green lights, favouring its own system, seeing the road as a plane, perhaps, or just seeing the road. And what do we see when we cross? Packets of information being ridden by a tag, you’re likely thinking.
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