A girl eats a snail, says it is her tongue and all the light bulbs explode, leaking the scent of green. The girl is in love, she says, and licks the glass from the floor. When she smiles, we see she has no tongue. Her tongue, teeth glitter with knives.
Imagine a chapbook of poetry like this. There you have Mary Stone Dockery’s crystalline and enigmatic, Blink Finch.