My mother is a rickety house
amidst a city of skyscrapers...

My voice isn't quite the way I want it to be:
soft, like a Scotch mist, but also pounding...

When I go to sleep, a sheet
of paper threatens my throat...

Along railroads, I can hear the wind
plucking songs from cities and skies...

Our words were strong, strong enough
to imitate the click clack of heels...

On sunny days, you feel like a tourist; you
chew on a canary-coloured straw, and stop...

They slurp oyster souls,
guillotine shrimps with...

The weatherman said, today's going to be
one-eighty degrees and sunny...

Fingers glued to poetry, mouth
glued to silence - I am...

We are standing stiff on the first floor
like freshly jarred pickles...

She was peeling shrimps
on new year's eve, whilst...

Miss Mossy always wanted
to mow the mess beneath...