Photo by Jeff Sirkin



Do fancy windows make the view more or less beautiful

The shock can come just by looking

Braids in motion

Stunning stupidity

I am trying to be an artist people want to have fun with

The groove is in the heart

The bird is in the hand

Funny how the night moves

You go through a hard time

You emerge into life

Nothing comes clean

You came silent

With your hand in my hair

It makes me happy to know

What your motion says

I have never been in love the way I think I have


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Some people have beautiful things

to make any sentiment valid

I have an inarticulable feeling

riding at the edge

Beauty isn’t the thing about it per se

As the cloud crosses your window

You flatten yourself

against the pane to show me

How I can’t believe you don’t know

A message’s meaning is timing

Stranger pulling on your shirt

touching it around the hem

As I watch only what I love so much

that the love disappears is possible

There is no one else with me

on the dun-color sidewalk

My particular feeling has nothing to do with you

It is more about the window

It is like the frame of the window

I can see you through


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black cat

black cat


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Is everything natural useful

The cool hawk dies away

Life is about handling slow separation

Mild shadows where the springtime knows

The people on the road are love

They act like it’s no big deal

I hang on at the edges of them by my vision

I offer my body as an excuse

When I get dressed I think about

1. me

2. one other handsome person

Every day it is almost another day


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Speed is the mood of time

When the forest is burning

We say The flames are fast

Fanned by the wind while the sun rises

Imagine how a tree feels speed

Now imagine being the tree next to the last tree

that that wildfire licks


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Sky looks painted

Because I know the word for it

When I feel thinking about you

Is what the sky looks like

Something I don’t know

Without the word for

The way things connect is they fall

Lights are tiny mimetic suns

Moths act like blown-on paper

Once in awhile winter

Living becomes an art

We’re all really lived-in people

Here in America


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Everything I saw was an image I could write

Everything I thought I could see

We continue because we get what we deserve

If it’s a cartoon watch

does it tell cartoon time?

Someone dressed beautifully whispers around a corner

The new year happens in our bleakest month

yet I fear the unknown

and crawl up to it and lift my arms before it


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Colleen Louise Barry
is an artist and writer. She runs the interdisciplinary projects Mount Analogue and Angel Tears.



@colleenlouisebarry / @themountanalogue / @angeltearsforever


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