Pine Island
Sheerman, Lucy
Sleep guardians, unstep yourselves. Turn towards the outside. Recall his speaking look, the only sound in a city of whisperers where hurt is cradled in the palm of a hand. Cuts traced along ink lines, words like milk and pleasure and pain turned inside out and shaken from these pages. Rest your head upon that bosom. You are marooned on a pale island, lapped by gentle voices, careful footsteps, confidences.
Pine Island is an experimental memo...