HOME
POEMS: YEAR ONE
POEMS: YEAR TWO
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
ABOUT THE ARTIST
Blog
More
In Winter.
It was salty
Like semisweet pistachio ice cream
God how those memories still hold tremendous power
Tick, tick, tick go by the hours.
In Spring.
This is me/her, walking away from the looking glass
I think that we think that life is linear
Steps in a progression; geometric
Even when I settled the tab,
Taking last sips on teasing tonics
I remembered, it's not the bar keeper (you), and the soul it kept (me).
Antithetical
Interal, personally
Conversational.
I think you knew this, all throughout
When you throw it down, the tag
There lays your girl, she’s -
Hundreds of little scaled dreams,
That seemed real, but were simply theft.
Wake up! And put them to bed.
In Summer.
I am a woman of prose.
Fuck you.
The realists ground the idealists
& the idealists keep the dreams alive
Again.
Drinks whiskey
So sweetly.