Welcome to the Ergosphere, the furthermost boundary of a black hole.
My name is Kyra-Sky, which is apt given the content of my work - I swear my mother knew what I’d make when she offered me that hyphenated jumble of letters.
I am an image maker, writer and illustrator; drawing parallels between celestial and terrestrial bodies.
This archive;,exponentially growing in density, is a casing; a womb for all the textual, visual and auditory souls contained within its tissues.
In entering the womb of the void, you will encounter all manner of creatures; mostly, Demnous , St.Lucian Kwéyòl for demon.
Every piece of text inside of this dark flesh is...
Black Hole City
Its the city - this black hole city,
Its dandelions and long old oaks pushing upwards, never quite catching a kiss of sun.
Its sky, never quite blue but a shade of something brilliant in its own right!
With its armoured streets, and spit-spilled pavements;
lost months at lampposts, and late night taxis who drive the ones who walk the road at dark.
It’s a special kind of place, with its artists and its vibes,
its broken gutter pipes purging rain and chemicals.
A fluffed black and blue like a foggy sky too low lines the corners of a grandmother's kitchen,
and she sighs since she knows it lines her lungs too.
Her young neighbour is fruiting again, bruised from the baring - she holds her produce tight and smiles tearfully.
She might light a cigarette and reminisce about the simpler times,
times where she wasn’t so full of things like oil and gum and mass.
The neighbourhood dogs bark and bark some more,
they know the boys around the corner store are playing blues again.