Moving House

The epitome of cosmopolitanism is moving house

This is my twentieth move

I’m so damn cosmopolitan


Feet aching like pincushions

The common denominator of all moving experiences

Mind lags behind feet into a mush of aimless treading motion


I moved literally across the road once

It didn't make anything the slightest bit easier

Treading like the seven dwarves to work but without a merry whistle and only myself


I moved all my possions wrapped in one orange blanket

Helped by a man in a van

It was still painful, moving caused by a misunderstanding about spoons


Now I'm moving to the desert

Separating my bits from the liminal space of artistic residency

Taking everything, needing half



I don't have the time

I just have sore feet