I like to watch them drink their drinks:
Vodka poured from glass to aluminum.
Don't throw stones,
...
It is snowing
even though we all thought spring had sprung
up from the depths of our bookshelves
and onto our laps.
...
They speak of memories, progress, and calculations but
you’d rather think of art in it’s purest form.
Heads down on desks, we are
...
People look into her
eyes like chopping down trees.
She tries to find a comfortable skin to crawl into
...
Is there no remedy
for you?
With the sky below your eyes,
...
but there is too much fabric
to our clothes
and we would like to lie across
...
I couldn’t speak
so I scratched the words onto my hips
like raspberry stains on kitchen-floor-tiles.
...
Friday Nights
I like to watch them drink their drinks:
Vodka poured from glass to aluminum.
Don't throw stones,
don't fold up your bones.
At least not yet, not now
when winter's pulse is much too hard to find
and our throats are peeling
and our toenails have grown dim and blue.
Now that I've forgotten the cats cradle
and how to braid my fingers through
those shredded shoe laces,
stretch myself out and into
the arms of somebody warm.
'Jumping tastes so good, '
they tell me with muddled eyes and
lucid smiles and
beads around their wrists.
Her works are visually impressive, and able to take me to feelings bittersweet. I want more!