Archive - Prose Mallow

[a southern somewhere before the equinox]

5:41 A.M.:—morning, a southern somewhere;

Mar 19 •

I’ve been here and there. Mostly here.

Mar 10 •

February 2025

Two mornings back, you and I got married in the middle of a storm.

Feb 2 •

January 2025

[a new year at the tundras]

What it means to write about the year, the year passed by, in its displacement, that the year is displaced, years never escape us, we escape nothing but…

Jan 3 •

November 2024

October 2024

Lawnmowers are thorough because there is one that always works somewhere on these streets, their stretching veins obsessed with pillaged space.

Oct 22, 2024 •

[the one with the lesson]

Neighbor six steps from the hilltop crosses us mid-walk and yes, he is.

Oct 20, 2024 •

In Goethe’s The Metamorphosis of Plants: what is unthinkable, invisible, counts as walls, what qualifies as a stipule, calyces, the axis point of…

Oct 17, 2024 •

You could say I live near the upturned knuckle of a through street just north of the city center...

Oct 14, 2024 •

[a dream as what was]

phosphenes, a shuddering door, a dream as what was—

Oct 10, 2024 •

[a mirror pointed towards an empty corner]

7:02 a.m.: moths love an open kitchen door.

Oct 4, 2024 •

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