Talia is an Artist and young lady living in the suburban outskirts of NYC. She likes pink wigs as well.
Occupy Long Island
My portfolio
The whiskey on your breath
Could make a small boy dizzy
But I hung on like death:
Such waltzing was not easy.
We romped until the pans
Slid from the kitchen shelf
My mother’s countenance
Could not unfrown itself.
The hand that held my wrist
Was battered on one knuckle
At every step you missed
My right ear scraped a buckle.
You beat time on my head
With a palm caked hard by dirt,
Then waltzed me off to bed
Still clinging to your shirt.
(Source: NPR)
Circles.
Last autumn we drunkenly wandered into the cold, wet streets of New York
Our mouths rank with the perfume of cheap vodka surging through our veins
We already gorged on home-made masks and ciders,
drank light from amber harvest moon nights settling low in the sky, teasing the last vineyard grapes who shivered under her deceiving temperament…
We had seen these friends too many times before!
Needed to burrow through tunnels into metropolis only to find our recklessness naive.
Not a solitary tree had turned.
Soon, their skinny arms violently thrust into the frosts of an early, moist dawn until each tip dipped gold was a matured fluttering canary wing on the wind.
We slept over bridges under the gray veil of morning
I watched you slump in your car and disappear in mists
scooping a handful of maple leaves against my nostrils letting them
trickle down to my boots into the masses of their blood-brothers waiting to be
bagged, burned and returned to the moon.
(via peace4love)
