medina zabo

i do nothing. I observe moths incorporating their abode, and learn

 violated habitats infer fractures: life lingers on, bodies become aware     underneath    we live the same terrain.   

              My hands gather, stick, repair, stitch disturbed fragments from living archives, feed force on mechanical tools, submit digital prompts, apply substances that reclaim chthonic systems

to return          queering archives of failure,  feral creatures unearth