Corina Gina Papouis

walk with me into the polar night cold is the new heat didn’t you know? you like to watch blood penetrating the snow do you want to touch it? the climate will change the oceans shall rise

The Great Art overlooks the killing, that is a spoiling of the eunuchs Instead she watches the breaking of a finger, and The Great Artist always chooses the little one. It’s a fact. Every woman

her face too subdued (don't you think?) her hands too small her ears in the right place unlike her eyebrows, her nose and her mind her back? a pack of bones holding hopes at night and that!dress in

as birds scratch the sky so the clouds can bleed feathers and fear over a world in greed we watch with our hands soft and ready to kill for whatever we love or the secrets we seal collapsed

hi there God, I’m here @ your mercy as usual no, I’m not alone although at times I feel like a balloon of emotions in a world of pins I haven’t got much time (‘here we go again’ you must

I was thinking to write to you about the weather but you’ll hear about it in the tomorrow paper you’ll find out how much it rained over here how everything has overflowed and went down hill in

..the red cheeks of children, the scarves and the rush the patches of snow lips in strawberry crush I finish today the tasks of tomorrow I’ll make a new list of TO DO and to borrow more

december so tough on ears and throats sore with missing each other’s voice these toes frozen and curled under rough silent blankets of faraway and waiting only our thumbs warm warm alive

on the silence ward we tip-toe in words dressed like wounds and fiddle with spots where the chin hits the chest repeatedly incessantly stretching them wide into smiles over milk teeth until

The following article was published by Maev Kennedy on Wednesday, 6th of October 2010 in The Guardian. The torment of the poet Ted Hughes over the fate in 1963 of his estranged wife Sylvia Plath, is

his kids wear bibs 100% silk that stay white through the day he’s growing wild orchids in the deepest darkest circles under the eye he makes jelly out of dry words with broken fingers his dragons

no I did not need a mirror to see my blood deserting its own artery for another nor did I need my flesh flaking in the view of the public at the sound of this name or that the quest? I

I’m driven by the power of his lower lip when is still I’m a mammoth in Ice age cold frozen waiting wanting to be discovered and studied – (especially my untouched by

losing and knowing how to is a Mona-Lisa painted with every feeling you own onto a canvas you never knew you had the more you will stare into its smile the less you

...I said it first time, without a stutter in the middle of the stage with white projectors licking my ankles like a Labrador my voice did not tremble nor did my nostrils arms hung on to the