the desert-
endless field of red sand,
rocks and hoodoos decorate the landscape.
the angry sun beats down-
scorching the ground.
mesas rise up-
canyons drop down.
ravens caw and fill the air-
hares and pronghorn run below.
this is the american desert:
painted, burning, full of life.
the winter makes me so happy
the snow hanging in the trees
the cold biting at you
i love it
oh Icarus, you poor thing.
fell in love with the sun, the sky-
paid the price, i suppose.
why do we always pay the price for love?
Orpheus, lonesome poet,
lost his love because he wanted to tell her they'd made it.
In my attic I keep my heart.
I hold it there, safe amidst pillows, blankets and childhood stuffed animals.
When I make things, I break off a piece of my heart,
and sew it into pillows,
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