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If music became visible… If architecture became flexible… If feeling acquired flesh… If the body lost its flesh… If all of this was united – this would be poetry. Beyond time, beyond space, beyond reality. And at the same time, omnipresent.
-Victoria Roshe
"And as I put your toys away..."
"Enormous, warm, she sings non-stop..."
"From the bridges we burned..."
"He gave one to his father..."
"How clearly and persistently..."
"I'm waiting for the cherry child of mine..."
"It seems the fleeting time..."
"My Goodness, don't allow me to debase..."
"My hand is slowly growing numb..."
"One night, without opening his eyes..."
"The one and only public place where I..."
"Think of me as you would of dust..."
"This warm and gentle cheek somehow..."
"To the devil, the devil, the devil..."
"What is more dreadful than the dialtone..."
"When it is dark, I do not feel at ease..."
"When you, I or your grandma hit..."
"While I read, you're playing war nearby..."
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