Fateful flowers, pollen saplings autocrats and neophytes, beneath the canopy quite natural politics and feelings, murderous and beauteous, cute little petals of the mouse-ear cress kisses cheeks of the stars like dust mites, interminable love-in of decay and bright fruition, here we are. Laurel Moore’s dark and florescent As Small as Dust warps the classifications and spectra that we aren’t and also are, to amuse-bouche the organic congregation’s sweet and putrid dialectical hum, rising into air, caught by the sunlight, dappled things. The nymphs have not departed.
(A5, 120gsm, 18 pages)
£8
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