For Lucas
A young man died yesterday.
alice saga
Bilingual letters, poems, and fine art self-portraits from a Swedish artist returning home. I have been buried. I bloomed anyway. I bloom forth. forever.
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i bloom forth. forever. — on vinyl.
the first record is here — preorder open at Diggers Factory in Paris.
a taste of the falling
before sunday's gazette — twenty-one pages coming
now i am my own justice
I was the one assigned the violet,
The bud held the shape all winter · a Wednesday letter
Karin Boye · Ja visst gör det ont · from Hedegärde, before noon
The wound has its own weather
a small cycle in three movements
the dove of letters — in print
issue 17 of the daffodil gazette · a companion in ink to the poem cycle now on youtube · free to read on the daffodil press
brevduvan · the dove of letters
a small song for my new YouTube channel — the dove who flies between the fairytale and its ending
the daffodil sunday · issue 2 · from marco to runeberg · a sunday of finland
our first sunday under the new cadence · a runeberg pivot · with a chabkook of small mercies
månbarnet
the empress moon child. a piece for become your wings.
princesse amorina is my guardian bloom
i rewrote psalm 23. this is what came through.
sagolikt
i scrolled through my archive. six images stopped me. this is what surfaced.
mimi called me alice at the new york times
how the name was given to me, and the woman i made everything with after
a museum i forgot i built
on finding nine hundred and nineteen images today, by my friend martina olsson
The Daffodil Sunday — Issue No. 1, Midsommar Edition (for patrons)
The first Sunday paper from Hedegärde. Behind the small purple curtain — yours, for staying.
i am the louvre
a prose poem in the style of anaïs nin
the paperback has bloomed
three editions of I Bloom Forth. Forever. now live in the world
the bloom that wouldn't stop
a letter from the room behind the book
I Bloom Forth. Forever.
the book has come — three ways to hold it
the country that taught me everything first
a letter on Sveriges nationaldag — for those who have lived far from home and come back slowly