Venus > Recent Status Updates

There's something dead about it, something deserted. I am like a room where things once happened and now nothing does, except the pollen of the weeds that grow up outside the window, blowing in as dust across the floor.

These pictures were supposed to be erotic, and I thought they were, at
the time; but I see now what they were really about. They were paintings about suspended animation; about waiting, about objects not in use. They were paintings about boredom. But maybe boredom is erotic, when women do it, for men.

The future is in your hands, she resumed. She held her own hands out to us, (...) In your hands, she said, looking down at her own hands as if they had given her the idea. But there was nothing in them. They were empty. It was our hands that were supposed to be full, of the future; which could be held but not seen.

no puedo leer 10 paginas q me duermo

I dreamed I walked barefoot all the way to your house in the snow. Everything was the blue of smudged ink
and you were still alive. There was even a light the shade of sunrise inside your window.
'God must be a season', grandma said, looking out at the blizzard drowning her garden.
My footsteps on the sidewalk were the smallest flights.
Dear god, if you are a season, let it be the one I passed through to get here.

There’s enough light to drown in
but never enough to enter the bones
& stay. Dont stay here he said, my boy
broken by the names of flowers. Don't cry
anymore. So I ran.

the horse & I
a watercolor hung too soon
& dripping. Green waves
surround this black rock
where I sit turning bones
to sonatas. Fingers blurred,
I play what I know
from listening to orchards
unleash their sweetest wrongs.

don't mind me tuve q cambiar la edición y no me dejó buuu a la antigua abandone el otro puse este