Bone Tongue

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 themidnight 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. It is a constellation of cicatrices. It screams. It kicks its own cure. It walks like a war song - naked, bloody & glowing.