December 2011
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Shut up and swallow the fireworks.
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The Skinny Dipping Report 2012 →
I want to swim naked in all of these places
(Thank you, pasithee)
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“Sometimes, I think the only art left for us is slowly peeling the label off a...”
– Lynda Barry (via poetbabble) (via favoritepoems)
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Renovating The Womb, Jeffrey McDaniel
Dear Mom, thanks for giving birth to me and not having an abortion. 2% of my time on Earth has been spent inside your body- more than all my girlfriends combined. I enjoyed my time in the uterus, reading what the previous fetuses had written on your walls. That’s how I learned to spell. That’s how I came out speaking.
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To be the thing, Dorothea Lasky
To be the name uttered, but not to have the burden to be To be the name said, but not heard To not breathe anymore, to be the thing To be the thing being breathed To not be about to die, to be already dead To not have to disappoint To not have the burden of being late Or punctual To not eat, to not have to eat To not feel anything To not be the one whose affect is criticized To not pick up the...
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Brown hands
Dreamt about your hands pulling my body into summer. The mirrored surface of my body, waiting to crack with pain and dissolve into water. Your hands smothering summer into my mouth. Dreamt about your hands tangled in my hair and holding my head under a wave. Salt water flowing out of my mouth.
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Poem to an Unnameable Man, Dorothea Lasky
You have changed me already. I am a fireball That is hurtling towards the sky to where you are You can choose not to look up but I am a giant orange ball That is throwing sparks upon your face Oh look at them shake Upon you like a great planet that has been murdered by change O too this is so dramatic this shaking Of my great planet that is bigger than you thought it would be So you ran and hid...
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“It’s dark.
You exhale a fist of memory.
I love you like weathering wood
in a...”
– James L. White, from “Lying in Sadness” in The Salt Ecstasies (via proustitute)
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Volunteering myself to be everything you regret not doing.
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Becoming Weather, 21 by Chris Martin
I was out interviewing clouds amassing the notes of a sky pornographer while patches of the city subnormalized by fear of fear like a reef bleaching closed I took to the streets looking for a human velocity ...
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“Isn’t it always like this –
joy and sorrow calling
to each other
across an...”
– Sally Bliumis-Dunn, excerpt from Angie, Leaving (via holdonmagnolia) This whole poem is lovely but these lines in particular spoke to me - my middle name is Joy and I have “Joy” and “Sorrow” tattooed on opposite sides of my body.
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The Words Under the Words, Naomi Shihab Nye
for Sitti Khadra, north of Jerusalem My grandmother’s hands recognize grapes, the damp shine of a goat’s new skin. When I was sick they followed me, I woke from the long fever to find them covering my head like cool prayers. My grandmother’s days are made of bread, a round pat-pat and the slow baking. She waits by the oven watching a strange car circle the streets....
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The Woods in Concord, Seth Abramson
Down by the oaks tonight you might still find a musket boys but stay lively for the feral cats in the underbrush. In the forest we carved from a still greater forest there was the lesser forest we lived in. Have you seen the boys of means up at the old stone brook, they will say you feel pretty narrow for a good boy. They will ask you if you fall every night, and for what. You’ll...
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“Sex with him involves so much adrenaline, and it starts before he’s even inside....”
– Control « Nightmare Brunette
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Fortune of the Shipwrecked, Luke Davies
In your eyes the ocean. I have lied my way through every situation. To hustle was to be pure. But the soul of the water: I am washed ashore, marinely led. I bathe in the light of the star of untruth which is shining on the midnight kelp. The star of untruth: the irony. My matted hair and the purple bruises. My own wrung soul on the briny shore where the soul of the water laps like a whisper of...
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Ezekiel, Luke Davies
I see the massive weather change all day and feel the planet swing through space: oxygen a reprieve, atmosphere the illusion of a comfort zone. Outside the wheel the going gets tough, because it is raw, and you are not alive, could never be. Open the pod bay door, HAL. On earth the birds twitter, their tiny lungs work overtime. It seems a shallow panting place. And then the bee, which is...
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Trepanning in the collective unconscious
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A Prison Evening, Faiz Ahmad Faiz
translated by Agha Shahid Ali
Each star a run, night comes down the spiral staircase of the evening. The breeze passes by so very close as if someone just happened to speak of love. In the courtyard, the trees are absorbed refugees embroidering maps of return on the sky. On the roof, the moon—lovingly, generously— is turning the stars into a dust of sheen. From every corner,...
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A Prison Evening, Faiz Ahmad Faiz
translated by S. Abbas Raza Night descends on a spiral staircase of evening stars; a breeze passes by as tenderly as if someone had said a loving thing. The countryless trees of the prison courtyard are absorbed in drawing pictures and patterns on a shirtfront of sky. On the shoulders of heaven shines the lovely hand of beneficent moonlight, dissolving into dust the watery stars, dissolving the...
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tphd:
I REALLY LIKE WRITING AND DRAWING, BUT I CAN’T SHAKE THE NOTION THAT THE BEST USE OF MY TIME IS CUNNILINGUS
MERRY CHRISTMAS!
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U-District Incident Report, Heather McHugh
Apparently they want your body parts. They frisk you for Your handset, earbud, bluetooth, cellphone, iPad, thumb drive, memory stick And laptop. You won’t need any of it soon. Give them The finger too.
(via snarkattack-gracenotes)
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Unrequited love is the ultimate debasement so I gave it up.
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“We’re on I-95, and she unhooks the pole, and she’s holding the morphine bag over...”
– Mike DeStefano
The Lives They Lived - Interactive Feature - NYTimes.com
Go read this, it’s wonderful.
(via felixsalmon)
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LIVE, by Meir Wieseltier translated by Shirley...
From Windows Near Mallarmé Why do you live as if the world were shaking with fear? The world isn’t afraid to die.
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Love Poem, Dorothea Lasky
The rain whistled. A taxi brought me to your apartment building And there I stood. I had dreamed a dream Of us in a bedroom. The light shining upon us in white sheets. You were singing me a song of your sailing days And in the dream I reached deep in you and pulled out a cardinal Which in bright red Flew out the window. Sometimes when we talk On the phone, I think to myself That the deep...
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Ars Poetica, Dorothea Lasky
I wanted to tell the veterinary assistant about the cat video Jason sent me But I resisted for fear she’d think it strange I am very lonely Yesterday my boyfriend called me, drunk again And interspersed between ringing tears and clinginess He screamed at me with a kind of bitterness No other human had before to my ears And told me that I was no good Well maybe he didn’t mean that But...
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“It should never be forgotten that while colonization, with its techniques and...”
– Michel Foucault, “Society Must Be Defended” (via illllllllllllli)
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Fuck flattering, fuck fluttering, I mean string fucks like prayer flags of all your unflattering clothes and cast your body into the air currents.
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Totem Poem [Abandoned in a field near Yass], Luke...
Abandoned in a field near Yass a cobwebbed car once kept us warm and when it rained, though we shivered with sickness, there came a moment of perfect happiness, faces nestled in the vinyl, sleep coming on, surrounded by metal that in upcoming decades would oxidise to flakes. Asleep at last, last of the valium, we came to know a car too is a flower and pollen its decay. In the dry air at dawn the...
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Totem Poem [In the yellow time of pollen], Luke...
In the yellow time of pollen, in the blue time of lilacs, in the green that would balance on the wide green world, air filled with flux, world-in-a-belly in the blue lilac weather, she had written a letter: You came into my life really fast and I liked it. When we let go the basket of the good-luck birds the sky erupted open in the hail of its libation; there was a gap and we entered it gladly....
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Totem Poem [If every step taken is a step...
And if every step taken is a step well-lived but a foot towards death, every pilgrimage a circle, every flight-path the tracing of a sphere: I will give myself over and over. I have migrated through Carpathians of sorrow to myself heaped happy in the corner there. Nothing seemed strange in the world, you’ll understand— nothing ever more would. Monkey Boy came to me saying Look—the moon of the...
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Boreal, Andrew Joron
Across the stiffening pond, your steps send broken branching signals Faultless as some harp-tuning dedicated to silence: each note Carries an interior candle of dissonance the dark calendar Marked by a sequence of frozen suns There is a season deeper than winter Passing in these tree-diagrams, & mechanisms Of common speech Sleeping under the solstice, you...
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Scryer's Bridge, Carol Guess
Thirteen on ice, skating, I died. Boys dragged soft fields with the lifts in their shoes. We’d gone in search of the other, the fat girl. Hurried to drown her past Hurricane Ridge. White snowed on white, ice over feathers. Cutters knit sweaters, buried alive. Our parents wore dog suits and panted through breakfast. Once she was me. We’d burned her last spring. Girls crocheted scarves,...
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Birth a necklace of god particles and imagine them gleaming like pearls. Angels orgasm in jealousy.
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“In South Korea, a small group of activists and defectors gathered to launch...”
– South Korean intelligence disputes circumstances of Kim Jong-il’s death | World news | guardian.co.uk