A Collection of Poetry
Bone Tongue is the anatomy of the sharpest rose. It is sculpted from each petal’s sleeping body. This is a collection of diary entries from the poet when she was suffering from severe clinical depression and it gathers the repetition of every ache into a filigree of poems. Maybe these aren’t even poems, Maybe each page carries a cult of foxes gathered around a fire waiting for the midnight to fall. Maybe it is a single hour caught in the butterfly effect. Maybe it is the distance between death and dreaming. The tongue has calcified the way a mind makes a relic out of every memory. Days are chiselled into verses that get carved onto this hard-shelled tabula rasa.
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