War Is An Absolute Failure Of Imagination,

We Have Lived With Violence Far Too Long.

Experience Is Always Larger Than Language.

I Am An Instrument In The Shape/ Of A Woman Trying To Translate Pulsations/ Into Images For The Relief Of The Body/ And The Reconstruction Of The Mind.

If We Had Time And No Money, Living By Our Wits, What Story Would You Tell?

No One Has Imagined Us. We Want To Live Like Trees, Sycamores Blazing Through The Sulfuric Air, Dappled With Scars, Still Exuberantly Budding, Our Animal Passion Rooted In The City.