The art in the woods
The person that I accidentally thought was 37
The roof in the sun.
My stupid black skirt
My broken pin
That I cared about what I looked like
That you're gone.
St. Marks
Last time I was in this church, you were alive
And I sat next to my teacher, who cried
And two women were united
in love
By a priest and a poet,
and the words of a poet gone.
Oh, we watched from the rafters
as the city streamed in,
and a host swept the floor
of flowers
The arranged congregation
preparing to sing,
And I sat next to my teacher, who cried
And two women were united
in love
By a priest and a poet,
and the words of a poet gone.
Oh, we watched from the rafters
as the city streamed in,
and a host swept the floor
of flowers
The arranged congregation
preparing to sing,
We gathered our hands
with our hearts
in our chests,
We observed what it means
to belong.
We observed what it means
to belong.
dance
i think that revelry and enjoyment can mask a lot of things.
when the balloons fell
they covered the technology
that hardened them
the analog was then exposed
the substances were mainly in the other corner
from the speakers that doubled as your stage that are preserved with care
in our corner the stage could be exposed
the resourcefulness of a community
whose dance can double as a platform
whose scenery descends
and crashes waiting
...erupting the slow build
the open buffet
three kinds of drink,
endless formations
...exposed to heaven
when the balloons fell
they covered the technology
that hardened them
the analog was then exposed
the substances were mainly in the other corner
from the speakers that doubled as your stage that are preserved with care
in our corner the stage could be exposed
the resourcefulness of a community
whose dance can double as a platform
whose scenery descends
and crashes waiting
...erupting the slow build
the open buffet
three kinds of drink,
endless formations
...exposed to heaven
Leeds (Extended)
I was a collapsed barn
All you saw were the wisps of bent hay
Floating around my temples
signal flares for a pacified angel
My eyeballs
turned patient in their sockets
summer, sulking
While sentimental gossips poked them back ahead
Exacting straws, needled from firm dirt that lifting cracks
Shaggy roots that crumble padded
suffocating in the laboring sun
to possibly be drenched again and run into the river
pointing and deliberate
The grasses wept
From another point of view,
it all looked soft
Crickets are another man's silence
The barn boards have old nails in them
so put your shoes on
The treasure is only plastic from the seventies
The emerald is only a wet stone
All you saw were the wisps of bent hay
Floating around my temples
signal flares for a pacified angel
My eyeballs
turned patient in their sockets
summer, sulking
While sentimental gossips poked them back ahead
Exacting straws, needled from firm dirt that lifting cracks
Shaggy roots that crumble padded
suffocating in the laboring sun
to possibly be drenched again and run into the river
pointing and deliberate
The grasses wept
From another point of view,
it all looked soft
Crickets are another man's silence
The barn boards have old nails in them
so put your shoes on
The treasure is only plastic from the seventies
The emerald is only a wet stone
Programming
The loud voice
The promises
Cold carpet, bad coffee
Packeted
emoji Functional
Meet at night and at 5:30
push to
Metadata, bad boundaries
I fly to fairy plays
and queer rainbows that are real
courtyards
Say her name.
Gather scripted
Gated elevators
Custom command
Revise
Cry
The promises
Cold carpet, bad coffee
Packeted
emoji Functional
Meet at night and at 5:30
push to
Metadata, bad boundaries
I fly to fairy plays
and queer rainbows that are real
courtyards
Say her name.
Gather scripted
Gated elevators
Custom command
Revise
Cry
Leeds
I was a collapsed barn
All you saw were the wisps of bent hay
Floating around my temples
making it hard to see
My patient eyeballs turned
that summer, sulking afternoon
While sentimental gossips poked them back ahead
Exacting straws, pointing and deliberate
From another point of view, it all looked soft.
Crickets are another man's silence
The barn boards have old nails in them, so put your shoes on
The treasure is only plastic from the seventies
The emerald is only a wet stone
All you saw were the wisps of bent hay
Floating around my temples
making it hard to see
My patient eyeballs turned
that summer, sulking afternoon
While sentimental gossips poked them back ahead
Exacting straws, pointing and deliberate
From another point of view, it all looked soft.
Crickets are another man's silence
The barn boards have old nails in them, so put your shoes on
The treasure is only plastic from the seventies
The emerald is only a wet stone
Artist Criticism
It fails to qualify
A conversation you control
You. Really.
Show yourself
Show me what qualifies you
Let me see you touch it.
A conversation you control
You. Really.
Show yourself
Show me what qualifies you
Let me see you touch it.
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