Becoming Visible

Prostíbulo Poetico St Valentine, Margarita Blue

2012-01-31T14:00:00.001-08:00

I´ve Decided To Do This Again

2012-01-29T10:30:00.002-08:00

Ok, I´m not much of a blogger. But I´ve decided to use this to updated people on readings, writers, any poetry events happening between Barcelona to NYC.

I am here in Barcelona until June 28th. After 4 years of living abroad I will be moving back to begin my life there and promote my first full length collection with Patasola Press.

Here is my bio for those who don´t know who I am.

Kiely Sweatt has been living in Barcelona the last three years teaching, translating and writing. She started up, Prostibulo Poetico, in partnership with the Poetry Brothel, Poetry Society of NYC. www,prostibulopoetico.com. She has been working on branches in Madrid, Mexico, Costa Rica, Colombia and Venezuela. She is co organizer of Tri Lengua, a multi lingual reading series in Barcelona, which hosts writers in genres of poetry, fiction and nonfiction in Spanish, English and Catalan. She will be bringing this series to NYC this summer. She has a BA from WVU and an MFA in poetry from The New School. She is founding editor of Libro Rojo,, and co-editor of The Translation book, Volume 1. Her work has appeared online and in-print through such publications as The Why and the Later by Carly Sachs, Best American Poetry blog, Shampoo, and PaxAmericana among others. Her book, ´The Origin of´ is forthcoming with Patasola Press.

We will be in touch!

I

2012-01-29T10:30:00.001-08:00

Kiely Sweatt has been living in Barcelona the last three years teaching, translating and writing. She started up, Prostibulo Poetico, in partnership with the Poetry Brothel, Poetry Society of NYC. www,prostibulopoetico.com. She has been working on branches in Madrid, Mexico, Costa Rica, Colombia and Venezuela. She is co organizer of Tri Lengua, a multi lingual reading series in Barcelona, which hosts writers in genres of poetry, fiction and nonfiction in Spanish, English and Catalan. She will be bringing this series to NYC this summer. She has a BA from WVU and an MFA in poetry from The New School. She is founding editor of Libro Rojo,, and co-editor of The Translation book, Volume 1. Her work has appeared online and in-print through such publications as The Why and the Later by Carly Sachs, Best American Poetry blog, Shampoo, and PaxAmericana among others. Her book, ´The Origin of´ is forthcoming with Patasola Press.

Prostibulo Poetico

2008-12-16T07:46:00.000-08:00

PROSTÍBULO POÉTICO

El Prostíbulo Poético es el primer acontecimiento de su clase que ha seducido la Ciudad de Nueva York y ahora llega a Barcelona. Estamos cambiando la forma de recitar poesía, El Prostíbulo Poético está, en primer lugar, interesado en la presentación de literatura buena e inédita. Sin embargo, es también un acontecimiento, una performance basada en el concepto de un burdel.

Una noche la "Madame" presentó a un grupo de individuos donde circulaban los poetas más finos de la ciudad (tanto hombres como mujeres) en esa velada experimentaron un ciclo de acontecimientos surreales, libertinaje literario y lecturas privadas de poesía. Así surgió y así es cómo trabaja: Los poetas juegan a ser "prostitutas," y los visitantes juegan a ser "clientes" (y también son invitados a asistir de incógnito) pero en vez de la intimidad física, los poetas ofrecen la intimidad de su poesía, dando lecturas privadas. Todas las "putas" residentes están disponibles para hacer lecturas privadas durante el tiempo que dure el acontecimiento (por una módica cantidad).

Por supuesto, todo bueno prostíbulo necesita de una ambientación, nosotros ofrecemos gente pintando, video arte, música en directo y dj’s, acciones que llevarán a cabo nuestros poetas, artistas y amigos a través de la noche. En cada espectáculo "La Madame" presentará a "la chica nueva" (un nuevo lector que representará este papel) y así ofrecer nuevo material a nuestros clientes.

No puedo describirlo

2008-06-16T06:18:00.000-07:00

Ok, it has been way too long for this. But here it is in a nutshell. Im illegal and have been for two weeks and I dont know for how long I want to stay. My work is going very well and my classes are almost finishing. Im sad to leave some of my students. It was even sad to say goodbye to my taxi driver this morning who would no longer take me too and from UPS and HONDA on Mondays.

But Barcelona overall is terrific, more so than it has been. I love living close to the beach, getting bloody marys on sundays, and looking forward to Summer Case, a festival of delicious music in the parc...

Yet, here is how I can sum up what it may be like for me on some days here. I was in a club the other week waiting in line to use the bathroom when I met a gay man I quickly befriended. He told me of his wedding that Monday and once we found out he had been in the wrong line we laughed and parted ways with an exchange of numbers.
The next week I bumped into a lost love of Kendra´s in the stairwell of our new apt. We hadnt seen him in 3 months and here he was! We ran into him four days in a row after that and on the fourth met him and his friends for a pasta dinner on the fourth floor of where we live now. So ok, here is the connect. As Im walking out of my apt the other night I run into one of the guys we had been eating dinner with that night upstairs and he asked if I knew his roomate who was the gay man I met in line to use the bathroom. !!!!
It is like this consistently here. Everyday I meet someone who knows someone random or who I bump into . I am mario in a video game reliving the levels that change or that Im getting better at beating.

Barcelona, Stop Stealing

2008-05-30T03:00:00.000-07:00

My Mom came for a week and I got to see the city in a perspective of me being here for 3 months. The cafe´s the time of just sitting in the park and people watching and finally going to the Picasso Museum. Unfortunately, the 2nd day here my mom was robbed. I dont even know how it happened with the hawk like eyes I have since Kendra and I were both robbed. But, with this came a fast response and a new passport. The Consulate here is like the White House, only more like a bungalo. Things are still progressing here. I may not be staying until the expected Aug 20th, but will know for certain today. I leave you with a poem, my first piece of crap, but at least it is in Spanish. Dusting off from writers block

Vivo en una habitacion de equipaje
y cajas de Font
dos personas estan mirando en este espejo encima de mi
y pienso que son refleciones de una imaginacion
mi esposo y yo
o mis padres.

nadie ayudame con este espacio
porque cuando cayo
enamorado con la figura
Juan Vidal
tus hojos y traje
tus pipa y bufanda.
Estoy en acuerdo de este
fue un Picasso de tu
que estaba pintando.

Letter from a Visitor

2008-05-20T03:09:00.000-07:00

Just wanted to let you know I got home w/o a hitch and muchas gracias for all the spanish hospitality! I had such a good time.
Already got some compliments on my new digs, and told some pretty entertaining stories. I am disappointed we don't have a giant cat testicle picture, but maybe next time... Chanean still doesn't believe Fabio Capriolli is a real name. But really? I couldn't make that up if I tried!

So whats going on w/ the new apt? Should I expect some italian bambinos running around Barcelona soon?
haha! Keep me posted. Need to know if I need to book another ticket! I so wish I could of stayed longer, but back to reality **sigh**. I'll send pictures this week. Came in early today to catch up, so forgot my camera.
Luckily, NYC is having some pretty decent weather, so it's not so bad being back. I've already inforced the 1-5 game w/ my girls.. it is SOOOO much harder in philly! I even had my friend Ridge playing. haha. Though I do already miss the gender ratio and eye candy... There really is no other city w/ that many beautiful men! HOW did I not know this sooner???!!! I think I would of studied in Spain instead of Italy!!! ce la vie...

So in conclusion I'm giving you both a homework assignments: I expect completed before your return (which you will keep me posted on)

1. get picture w/ Giant Cat testis
2. stop talking to crazy spanish dudes (ahem... kylie... your stay is too short!)
3. live w/ and photograph hot italian dudes (**if can bring back to US, that is a bonus)
4. go to castle on hill and take pix
5. Find out what kind of cheese spread they use on those tapas w/ the salmon and honey (I tried to replicate w/ creamcheese, not QUITE as good, but not bad)
6. bring home a bottle of spanish wine for me!

Off To Turkey and Other Things

2008-05-14T05:30:00.000-07:00

Ok, So after the whole mugging, I have still decided to stay past June. Kendra and I have been frantically trying to figure out permanencias so we can stay here legally but I am not sure if that is going to happen. In that case, we may just go to Turkey this weekend so we can see about getting our visas re stamped and allowing us to stay longer that way. Even not it would still be great to go to Turkey.

Aside from that we are planning on moving in to a new place because we have to be out of the place we are now by the end of the month because our roomates girlfriend is moving in with 3 other people. If we didnt move that would mean that the room kendra and I share with Junior, the Argentinian, would be 6 people all on the floor. So we started looking...we found one and I will let you know if we get it tomorrow, which I think we will near the beach, only a one floor walk up with two italian waiters. We are out half a months rent but the stress of moving I think is easier solved doing it this way. I think if we do get this place I cannot imagine the things that will change for us over the next month. For one thing, we are right next to the beach !!

Work has been going very well. I have had lots of substitutions and a lot of my students are helping me find more work once these companies classes have ended.

So for now... things are great and by thursday I could be moving out of our 5th floor walk up in Clot, to a 1 floor walk up, with two italians and a beach next door.

Lets Update...Shall We

2008-05-07T05:56:00.000-07:00

I was mugged. I wrote an essay about it. But I lost it like my credit cards, phone, money and metro card. And sadly my Lake Charles 50 cent bag. But I went to valencia and celebrated with a friend and Kendra of my loss and a new city in Spain that I felt so at home in. I had a few dollars leftover that I saved at home and used it to pay and entry fee into a club. Whatever. you live once and I will get money again when I get paid. Things are things....

If I stayed an extra 3 Months would it hurt

2008-04-25T00:23:00.000-07:00

I have been here almost 3 months!!!!!! I have a ticket back at the end of may but a job that continues to the end of July. If I stay I will be going back to texas the end of July to pick up work there and hopefully find some work teaching. I would hope in this time some people could try to visit. I will keep you all up to date when the time gets closer.

Kendra is avid on staying and I cant blame her we are just now getting settled, finding our place in work and still trying to make friends. She has had a little frustration with work but I think things will be looking up for her soon. She´s the crazy spirit in this bunch for sure.

Roses are Coming up everywhere

2008-04-25T00:19:00.000-07:00

April 23. San Jordi. The day when Shakespeare Died and Cervantes Died. This day in Spain was a day when the lady gets a rose from her lover and the woman gives a book to her man. The streets look like Midtown manhattan but more people. If you can believe it. For me it was a dream. I was smacked in the face with more flowers than valentines day and anniversaries combined on my bus ride home from work but my student gave me a rose for being late so I hate to say I was part of that crowd. The lines of people waiting to buy books and meet the authors was any literary enthusiasts dream. They love literature here they love love. It was incredible and If I can get pictures up I will. If not I will show them to you all by the campfire.

Ciao

I lost it all and Now Ill try to recover in less description

2008-04-22T08:56:00.000-07:00

Ok, I lost my essay of a blog two seconds ago but I must say that this past weekend in Sardinia was a real gem of a time. Kendra and I pointed and clicked our way to the spot in less than I day and stumbled upon this new destination. From the moment off the bus and into the arms of a man who led us to his car, dont worry mom I was with kendra, I knew this was going to be an interesting trip. I had for certain thought we were leaving to girls stranded to their villa when we got into his car and drove up the mountain to a beautiful villa. But it was for us, but how could that be, he didnt even know we were going to be at the bus stop. My mind cannot wrap around that one still. That night we were at a loss for what to do but the next night with the Live show of every beautiful italian gutter punk and metal head. We met the band, the owner and everyone else and walked the streets until 7am. The next day we took the kids train around the old town and saw beauty that resembled much of Greece
Now Im back with more classes and an offer to stay until the end of July but I dont know yet. Kendra got more work at my school and we are awaiting the great day of San Jordi Manana. A book exchange and A rose to celebrate the love of couples and the death of Cervantes and Shakespear. ITs bigger than VDAY here. Why cant we have this

PICTURES...Lets try again shall we

2008-04-16T06:34:00.001-07:00

http://itso.smugmug.com/gallery/4722498_g735Y#279578658_scU5i

I have Found Poetry

2008-04-16T06:11:00.000-07:00

On a recent trip to Kabul our favorite Greek restaurant which we go to about 2 times a week we interupted a poetry reading they were having. God had opened up the creative clouds. I talked to the owner of the restaurant and he wanted me to read that night, but I was unprepared. Now....I shall begin the translating.

And So it Begins But from the Beginning First

2008-04-16T05:57:00.001-07:00

PICTURES....I didnt take them but at least someone did
Body: Here are the photos that I uploaded
http://itso. smugmug. com/gallery/4722498_g735Y#279578658_scU5i

When I said that was as bad as things could have gotten and a beer bottle fell from the top floor at our undgerground flamenco bar onto Kendra..s head, we re evaluated certain things we may have been looking for. But, really nothing has changed in terms of our love for this place. Maybe it has become more of a comfortable day to day lifestyle for us. Our roomate left for Malta, and we are still waiting to take another real weekend trip. But the weather is getting nicer and the hippies are coming out of the holes with tamores. The drum circles boom here.

Things here are going well. My classes are adjusting fine and I am feeling more comfortable with the levels of my students. Kendra is getting more work as well so in that department its a constant learning and great experience for us both. I played a guessing game with my UPS class in the middle of the work day on a Monday and somehow managed to have us all laughing in tears by the game we played. That laugher carried withthe other six classes that day and made what I am doing here all worth while.

Aside from work, Kendra and I have seemed to make a home out of Barcelona much like NY. All our friends are bartenders, which may lead to some question, but if anyone is looking for a cheap night out when they come we are getting hooked up so you will be in for a treat haha. It has its moments of really making the world seem like a small place when you run into all the people you know at one time.

And So it Begins

2008-04-16T05:57:00.000-07:00

Please cast aside your dried walnut apparatus

2008-02-27T06:22:00.000-08:00

When I was asked to write a poem about owls
all I could come up with was the old man
following me home from the Erotica reading.
Eyes like espresso beans. Sidewalks glazed
with a trail of street light and women
in pulled petticoats opening maps
resembling their placentas in ruin.

While the man from Mexico city swirls to night
shadow like white gas I think,
why couldn’t he be the Frenchman from the night before
who spoke metaphysically about my physical body.
If so, I’d be a ball of dough walking backwards
into his trousers, pushing past the playground
teetering back and forth on jungle equipment.

Alas, I’m stuck with the albino bald eagle
flying into the crag my of my back.

My trouble is this:
These nights just go on and on and on and on…
Falling into dust and corns has become
my rinse and spit continuum

These dreams are getting out of hand

2007-09-17T06:44:00.000-07:00

I was getting into a car outside Wa-wa convenience store and I was looking a lot like Jessica Simpson. I could feel my body and inside everyone around me. In a backseat, pressed against the window between inconspicuous bodies, two men I can’t remember
and a girl in front bit I still couldn’t get over how dark it was.

I made eye contact with our driver in his rearview.
His eyes tore through me, his smile made my stomach turn.
He knew something I didn’t.

To ease my discomfort I tried asking questions.
He didn’t respond until we dropped off the other girl. That’s when things got hazy. For a moment I may have been the girl leaving.
The guys got out at the next stop, leaving me alone with the driver. At that point I was the only one left in the car. I saw lips moving and it looked aggressive. The driver persuaded them back into the car.

Part of me felt relief for having thought I was the girl that escaped or because the guys got back into the car.

As we drove away again it was back to silence and eye contact with. We passed the yellow house with a red ribbon and the Deleware river split open and pouring into the streets from recent storms.

When I turned from the window I looked at the driver who turned back in his seat and muttered words. It was a silent film. His back cracked open and out of which grew two enormous wings. Like a an eagle or dragon or a combination of both more petrified than I had ever seen. Was this the angel of death? With his large talons he the skulking beast grabbed us in his claws over the WaWa and the girl we left behind.

I was frozen still when I woke up. And I was in a bedroom that resembled my mothers in Yardley. I was wrapped in a down comforter.

Petrified I dreamed of him again. Only this time the man was in my bed or a bed, he wasn’t the beast from before but similar, maybe in the sexual way and this dream seems a little more suppressed.

2 poems

2007-09-17T06:42:00.000-07:00

Orion

He’s strange enough to knit corduroy scarves
and overdo pages in his memoir.
When did wild rumors start muddying
linen curtains draped over the panes
of glass that described sex practices and
a growing anger towards young women?

His friend Patrick telephoned the women
in the neighborhood, reassured one scathed
group that the street artist was depressed and
deformed by fiscal abuse. “He’s like noir
by trade. Dark fallacies helped sell the pain.”
They misunderstood a boy muddying

his starched jeans during scouts, dying
to be picked first for a pervert. Women
watched curiously through their window panes
as he wrapped everything in plastic; scarves,
books, dishware. It’s all written in his memoir.
Like aluminum cans, he looked bent and

fragile. I wanted to open him and
spill out his contents, find those things dying
and mend them, to be a page of memoir,
and change all his perceptions of women.
When we met I screamed like a schoolgirl scarved
in taffeta. Split by age, I still died

to hold his bald head. When I write memoir
I may include that time we fed our pains
over a bread basket. The women
he left was what attracted me and
what put my nerves on edge. Like mud, dying
our clothes a certain yellow or scarves

tightly woven I picked at his memoir,
left sheaves of white paint over panes.
I was so curious what women

On a recent trip to the mall

I wanted to kill
the band of octagon blondes,
those women waiting
amongst a sea of dressing rooms,
dim like schools
of dolphins trapped in fishnets.

I went in to buy a ring
but realized I needed a man.
So I found the closest clerk
at the Orange Julius stand
and asked him for my hand.

Pardon me sir
I wanted to know if you’re looking
for a partner?
If my skin tight jeans
and bare breast
make you snarl?

To my chagrin
I was not his type
And thought what a sin
to be part of this bouquet
of crazed singles, a tourniquet
of sticky apricot
bruised fruit.

Reading Wed 9/26

2007-09-17T06:38:00.000-07:00

Inside Out : Closing Event at Bowery on Bowery and 1st

Come hear forty poets read and get a last look at the exhibit done by sAnna Sianno.

from 10pm-on

Free Admission!
food and drink available;

Readings

2007-09-17T06:37:00.000-07:00

The Lucky Cat, located in Williamsburg, Brooklyn! EARSHOT is a bi-monthly reading series, dedicated to featuring new and emerging literary talent in the NYC area.

*Friday, September 28th, 2007 at 8 PM*
Hosted by Nicole Steinberg

Featuring:
Idra Novey (poet and translator of Paulo Henriques Britto's The Clean Shirt of It)
Diana Lind
Ryan Berg (Hunter College)
Jaime Shearn Coan (City College)
Kiely Sweatt (The New School)

Admission is a mere $5 plus one free drink (beer, wine or well drinks only)!
The Lucky Cat is located at 245 Grand Street in Brooklyn, between Driggs and Roebling. Visit their website for directions: http://www.theluckycat.com.

Also visit http://www.earshotnyc.com for more information on Earshot or e-mail Nicole Steinberg at earshotnyc@gmail.com.

--
EARSHOT!
http://www.earshotnyc.com
http://myspace.com/earshotnyc

Been awhile..some new stuff

2007-06-26T13:50:00.000-07:00

Turning Point

You were the one I met over a letter
after the one I brought home from Greece
before the one I took from my class in a bed sheet.

When Ted sent me the first of your notes
I ripped it, leaving only a word
like cleft or chin.
Pieces of parchment
smearing the ink on my hand.

It was the summer of concrete sizzling with bacon,
my shoulder peeling cancer.
But, somewhere in this
incestuous heat, I began to long for your scars
dwindled through fragments like dew on my skin.

I tell you I write poems
you read books
We eat strawberries on beds
over lettuce and onion grass.

Our abilities had saved us
A pale face peered out the door.
Midnight and baby-snaps, prophets and prime ministers
were glowing in an inescapable mist

The conductor pulled the bell strap
as the picture gaped at us.

Spanish March

I wake up in pressed flowers
the Puerto Rican left me for beauty

as if I were his tapa or fetish in flash fiction.
I’m rubbing sleep from my eyes

listening to patterned breathing
over emptiness and cold pillows in this

landscape of unseasonable tourists.

New Stuff

2007-05-15T07:31:00.000-07:00

So, now that I am all done my masters. Im trying to keep up a writing habit. I hope to take my poetry more narrative and eventually venture into other genres. Here are some of the newer poems that probably need some revising.

Dear Mom,

I’m questioning the meaning behind the X
someone spray-painted to a door; neon pink contrasting
gray stone under a window boarded up by cedar planks.
My neighbor is stepping out to remove garbage, pressing down
the black bags not separated by papers and plastics. Her voice
annoys me as does her cut-off red shorts and clashing yellow and teal flip-flops.
Her conversation resonates between my apartment
and the three stories between her and her lover leaning
over the one-seater balcony of dying flowers.
Unfortunately, the X was not tattooed to her home.
That may give me hope they would be moving out in a few days.

There are a lot of cars that line this street
something I’ve never paid attention to until now. I wonder why cars don’t seem more like space ships when subways and cabs are my only transportation. I don’t even know if I would remember how to push a petal or to stay at 10 and 2.
Sometimes I feel my life is out of control in this city. Like I am sitting in the back seat of some deranged cabbie. The street fair makes its way past my window when I’m trying to write or sleep or … I wish you could see how lovely this day is.
How Dad would surely feel different about living back East. I can almost smell the onion grass like our backyard in Pennsylvania, or hear far off kids playing soccer on Mackles field. I wish you could be here to see how far I’ve come in my independence and how horrible fashion can be. A slight breeze bumps my skin and the neighbor has just bent over. I am going back inside. Max says hello, he is getting bigger but still bites. I miss you.

Love. Me.

Idea for an Ending

Paper in the break,
A wall with smashed berry juice.

My father is in prison
Listening to his dark voice like advertisement speech
On a soapbox with no audience.

My thumb is remembering
the story out of some wind
around corners of open rooms.

Oh the foolish smells of childhood,
Like this wall where fruit was first smashed.
It’s as if I’m threading wounds into chemical regret.

When presented with the ice king
Feelings gush over me like hammer and needles,
Blood and screwing.

I begin to drive my fork into these things
Electric heat, a taste of goats milk.

Nitrogen leaks into a chest
by some imposing hand, a mess left to clean.
Accident Town

1.

In this town,
we eat birds
are mirth
in our beds
before we are frozen hearts
shiver at each others presence.

2.

Tradition comes in low hills
lit up by lamps;
a slippery brightness.

3.

December falls
unexpectedly useful,
while I keep solemnity
am a little piqued
by voids in narrative.

4.

Now and then,

The garbage cans
satiate for another chicken wing
or another buzzard.

Cowboys self-flagellate
and dance in honor of a few honkies
while children play chess
behind a parking lot
and another relationship goes sour.

.

Events

2007-04-10T13:52:00.000-07:00

Hey. Im going to be doing a reading on Thursday in Brooklyn at Stain Bar located on Grand with my collective The Biggs and Co.www.thebiggscollective.com. And a reading on April 24th and Cornelia Street Cafe. You should come if your around.

Aside from those events, I've been sitting at my desk since 8 am , with no fresh air and I am ready to burst! So, Im skipping, literarally, out of here early.

2007-04-03T18:29:00.000-07:00

TO THE BEAST

Predilection to blue lake and snow clad mountains
never changed when I thought of placid home
where hearts were regulated by steady beats.

Ample scope of world desired I
yet failed by a poisonous curiosity
brought by inexperience to grief.

The journey became a veil of fatigue
where the picture seemed as dim, vast and evil
as the slue of bodies that trailed me.

Entranced by formula. I brought this.
O human frame of natural decay,
in my human condition I deprive you gift of heart.

Overcome by a sensation of madness., rooted
in thought that we are but one mind and two body;
Our home now outside where mourning grows,

The impenetrable cloud of deathlike solitude
breaks with chance words or apathy.
Loath the day life was received! And I must eternally follow.

2007-03-16T19:39:00.000-07:00

Autobiography of Total Frustration

I am as much a mouth as
some deep curvature for longing
which tries to articulate a suppressed appetite
like mud soup in tree knots.

The dirt doesn¹t scare me because
my variegated skin has a numbness
of drowning while my shadow becomes
a jackknife blade in a jackknife; probing
the hungry dirt.

I was a different story years ago. Flourished
years ago.

Now, inside me
is the story I cannot bring
to surface beyond peach.

Like posturing a walk,
I leave messes behind, bring
oranges and secrets
in combat arms.

Cool, hot, relentless and clear
I am a question of steam.
A self-indulgent imagist
inspired by aesthetics or
some anonymous space
left by my father.

The Origin of Restricted Breathing

2007-03-16T18:42:00.000-07:00

My Fondness for Pale

Even the danger of going beyond pale
flesh and mouth flung akimbo
shriveled like a malnourished vein under
the vitality of her innocence.

Yet, there I was probing her onto the island
of confetti marble, forgetting
danger. going beyond our pale
reflections bouncing off refrigerator doors.

Our faint heads woven in wheat,
the vitality of her innocence persisted me.
But, beyond laughter I could hear machines closing in-
to our unbreakable blindness.

The walls would begin to gush
over the chipping paint and splintering wood.
She’d begin to loose her vitality, her innocence;
all the danger of going beyond pale.