February 2012
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“You have a heart of gold
and I am kneeling in your bloodstream
panning for the...”
– Andrea Gibson, from “Staircase” (via loveyourchaos)
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Demeter, Waiting
wwnorton:
No. Who can bear it. Only someone who hates herself, who believes to pull a hand back from a daughter’s cheek is to put love into her pocket— like one of those ashen Christian philosophers, or a war-bound soldier. She is gone again and I will not bear it. I will drag my grief through a winter of my own making, refuse any meadow that recycles itself into hope. Shit on the cicadas, dry...
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fluttering-slips:
What a mouth will do
Kiss the impossible hope that love will last. An end to looking as if for one glove. Swallow the sweet lust of fruit—one way a body can be pleased. Tell others why. Tell others nothing. Feel the tongue and how goodness and mercy can flow like a river from the north or how it can rage as only rage can and know there isn’t much to say after...
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My Love for You Is So Embarrassingly
wwnorton:
grand…would you mind terribly, my groundling, if I compared it to the Hindenburg (I mean, before it burned)—that vulnerable, elephantine
dream of transport, a fabric Titanic on an ocean of air? There: with binoculars, dear, you can just make me out, in a gondola window, wildly
flapping both arms as the ship’s shadow moves like a vagrant country across the country where you live...
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Zielschmerz
dictionaryofobscuresorrows:
n. the exhilarating dread of finally pursuing a lifelong dream, which requires you to put your true abilities out there to be tested on the open savannah, no longer protected inside the terrarium of hopes and delusions that you created in kindergarten and kept sealed as long as you could, only to break in case of emergency.
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yourguttersoul:
Do you remember when we met in Gomorrah? When you were still beardless, and I would oil my hair in the lamp light before seeing you, when we were young, and blushed with youth like bruised fruit. Did we care then what our neighbors did in the dark? When our first daughter was born on the River Jordan, when our second cracked her pink head from my body like a promise, did we worry...
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jesuisperdu:
When to Quote Poetry or Moan Like a Moorhen
itwonlast:
By DWIGHT G. GARNER l NYTimes Jan.31, 2012
“Genitals,” Malcolm Bradbury, the British novelist and academic, wrote, “are a great distraction to scholarship.” They’ve been a distraction, too, to our understanding of the Kama Sutra, the classic study of society and sexuality written in India nearly 2,000 years ago.
The book...
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fluttering-slips:
Dependants
How good we are for each other, walking through a land of silence and darkness. You open doors for me, I answer the phone for you.
I play jungle loud. You read with the light on. Beautiful. The curve of your cheekbone, explosive vowels, exact use of cologne.
What are you thinking? I ask in a language of touch unique to us. You tap my palm nothing much. At stations we...
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