I’m looking for a house to live in but I don’t know if I can live with myself. It’s tricky. Damn my moods, the forgetfulness. Hanging a sign outside my skull: for rent. Mexican dances for the dead. Forget them. Shelves lined with mix-tapes, coffee pot forever mouldy. If it’s all the same, I’d rather…

Fields of megafauna, legends in our eyes. Beneath a confected dune, I spilled some water from a glass jar and watched as it disappeared into yesterday. We pitched a tent on the beach, listened to the dingo howls, and prayed for rescue. The locals don’t seem to mind us being here, though we are invisible…