Blossoms early don’t forget the days that were dark. Deeply folded lockout, no upshot of God, the
seasons. This will destroy you, snow
& light, psalms, human qualities, even if you’re never awake. Minus battle scars, missteps, women know
seasons; we can be like they are.
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| a tired version of me & rouch, amelia island, 2012 |
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| you had best dance. drew krewer's monster party, 2011. |
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| barbie fairy princess face, lyla w/ cita, amelia island, 2012. |
i love these photos:
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| edward curts, canyon de chelly. |
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| cindy sherman, monument valley girl. |
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| richard gere by herb ritts. |
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| robert mapplethope & patti smith. if you haven't read Just Kids you should do so. |
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| poet lynda hull. love her. "chiffon" is one of my most fav poems ever. |
Apr 3: if time made
me a puppet sparkly—place me in NOLA wrought iron balcony fern fall or make me
Romanian. Give circus pets ponies, beg
my tongue to come easy on a windy day, carry your house with you as a folded up
bridge goes, two-by-two languid & crippled over: this desert gale our town of survivors,
hemmed in or limned her fingers are ballerina.
Mute out your whole book of lions, let it go to the air, get your Bible,
her parceled out Jesus, my open mouth woodline leads to hat in hand, a fairy
brook, chaise lounge, glad library, granny’s fingers on the keys on a Sunday
afternoon in Georgia. I broke the limb
of the front yard tree, the kind she said Christ’s cross was made from.
