(whistle)
written by: Desiree L. Balota
my whistle revolves
in my space like old fan blades
spent in desert air.
once, i offered a cool blow
but was smothered to keep wind.
A student and fan of surrealist and constraint-based poetry, Dess carves syllables and statements in notepads, smartphones, and ice cubes as she pauses between her day and night walks for pen and speaker jobs and skateboard-on-tidal-wave adventures. She has written three books of poems and dreams of toasting spaceships and broken promises in her Olympic size mini oven.
