Caroline. Mumbles. Spark of light deep down in the ground. Full of fire, subject to change. (1993, she, her)

poetry • photography • music • art

Fleurs et oiseaux à la port bleue.(this photo is from a while ago, but I just really like it.)

At night the poem is on fire in my bedroom, but when I wake in the morning it has left, its car gone, its backpack gone, all traces it was ever there, gone. Maybe it will return with breakfast, I say. I’ll keep the door unlocked just in case.

As the sun sets I think to make space on the countertop for coffee. For bagels. For the poem.
Before You Make Love


Take off all of your clothes, alone and in the bathroom. Stare at your nipples. Call yourself “Beautiful” and see what happens. Touch your thatch of pubic hair, your stretch marks, and your round belly. Call yourself “Ugly” and watch what happens. Pretend you’re on…