March 2011
2 tags
2 tags
4 tags
2 tags
5 tags
3 tags
The Oregon Trail in the Last Moments Before Dusk,...
When you unbutton your blouse I think flawed perfection. I hunt like a martyr, begging the forest to take me for what I am, somewhat of a good man. I strip down to nothing, less than nothing I have shed my skin, hung it from a tree like an idea I was too scared to write down. We always ford the river, the water the color of toothpaste, the water too far to touch my skin—it’s still hanging from a...
1 tag
2 tags
5 tags
2 tags
2 tags
3 tags
Susie Bright: Stop talking about so called casual sex
Over at Salon, Tracy Clark Flory talks to sex writer Susie Bright about her new memoir Big Sex Little Death, the feminist sex wars, and the “soufflé of poufy female sexuality” in pop culture these days.
I especially love what Bright had to say about casual sex and coming of age in a time and place where the idea was that “sex would be ...
2 tags
Zeigeist - Dawn // Night
1 tag
I never said I would surrender,
each scar in his footsteps to fire. The pink stretch marks on my skin are a country at war with the last wall. He cut off my clothes like I was one of the wounded, my back arching under the mission of his hands. I am licked and rolled under him like a cigarette. This yoga position has an artificial Sanskrit name that only submissives know. I am a mudrā he uncurls. I bury fists then birth them....
4 tags
2 tags
3 tags
The Fluffer Talks of Eternity, D.A. Powell
I can only give you back what you imagine. I am a soulless man. When I take you into my mouth, it is not my mouth. It is an unlit pit, an aperture opened just enough in the pinhole camera to capture the shade. I have caused you to rise up to me, and I have watched as you rose and waned. Our times together have been innumerable. Still, like a Capistrano swallow, you come back. You understand: I...
1 tag
Anoint your wrists with rain. Your fingertips are a blessing warmed by a takeaway coffee cup.
2 tags
3 tags
In the Kitchen, Stacie Cassarino
It’s right before you drive away: our limbs still warm with sleep, coffee sputtering out, the north wind, your hips pressing me hard against the table. I like it hard because I need to remember this. I want to say harder. How we must look to the road that’s gone, to the splayed morning of cold butter and inveterate greed. Light comes and goes in the field. Oranges in a bowl, garlic, radio. In the...
2 tags
3 tags
2 tags
3 tags
2 tags
“Sometimes the body follows the mind, sometimes it leads with a machete.”
– Traci Lynn Matlock The Noumenon Revelation: When I should be sleeping, I am thinking.
2 tags
Hôtel de Ville, John Tranter
The kids should visit a history museum in their senior year, to understand disgrace as one form of Clinton’s victory. On the other hand the European Community foreign debt gives everybody bad dreams. So we do need to solve the problem of students reading difficult things that will lead them astray: why did Rimbaud turn from socialism to capitalism? As if it matters. He is his own consolation...
3 tags
“It was so boring I had to go outside and throw a brick at a tree.”
– my 13-year old cousin describes Buddhism (via sketchyjoe)
2 tags
from Mesongs by Kamau Brathwaite
XXIV for Barbara at Devizes And suddenly you was talking trees fall black with birds behind the hill and green as grass fly off into the sun o blinding girl the whole cathedral crash at your back XXV Not the blue the orthodoxy of the day But a blue like intuition The soft of the night into morning Felt here . remembered Under the hoofs of the cart
2 tags
Haiku by Don Winter
She had a body that had been a few places- back from only some
2 tags
I want you to see, Pier Giorgio di Cicco
I want you to see the hole in my shirt where your heart went through like a Colt 45, and opened a dream at the back of the neck. Here, let me unbutton it for you. Notice the ribs, those sweet things you loved, notice the insides, the parchment lampshades, the books, the furniture. Notice yourself sitting, holding my hand on a winter night, notice the look in my eyes, now close it all up and walk...
3 tags
Poem for Wisconsin, Matthew Zapruder
In Milwaukee it is snowing on the golden statue of the 1970s television star whose television house was in Milwaukee and also on the Comet Cafe and on the white museum the famous Spanish architect built with a glass elevator through it and a room with a button that when you press it makes two wings on the sides of the building more quickly than you might imagine mechanically rise like a clumsy...
2 tags
2 tags
lprecords asked: As you are my tumblr poet friend, I wanted to share something with you...
my first publication! Online, but nonetheless exciting:
http://clutchingatstraws.wordpress.com/2011/03/21/a-fawn/
:)
my first publication! Online, but nonetheless exciting:
http://clutchingatstraws.wordpress.com/2011/03/21/a-fawn/
:)
1 tag
He gave me five stars. I let them all dissolve on my tongue.
1 tag
Clawing at the sky won’t help when it is the weight of the earth that’s bearing down on you. Rain stuck like splinters in your fingernails.
1 tag
A cattle train passes through the station, their black eyes stare out at me. The stink of piss follows. My heart is a floorboard for hooves.
2 tags
Aphasia, Dorianne Laux
for Honeya After the stroke all she could say was Venezuela, pointing to the pitcher with its bright blue rim, her one word command. And when she drank the clear water in and gave the glass back, it was Venezuela again, gratitude, maybe, or the word now simply a sigh, like the sky in the window, the pillows a cloudy definition propped beneath her head. Pink roses dying on the bedside table, each...
3 tags
Drowning in Paradise, Ada Limón
The low hanging hibiscus coos out its swollen-mouth flower song to the rare bee holding its tongue and I’m drunk on the bully world again— a fueled up fluster coming on. Look, even two oceans can collide here in the belly of white islands. Splurge and risk in the conch-dark night—I’m going to walk into the water’s frothy rim. Come here shark. Come here barracuda. Love the sweet artifacts...
4 tags
“Arthur Miller, echoing the poet Archibald MacLeish, liked to say that the...”
– Bob Herbert in his last column for the New York Times Losing Our Way
1 tag
I sometimes hide Facebook posts from people I’ve had sex with in case they mistake it as being about them.
1 tag
You forgot the first kiss from every man you’ve ever loved. Now it just feels like you were closing your eyes, not love.
1 tag
I don’t know if I want a man or a sunset. I can’t tell if he’s flirting; my own mouth isn’t so cautious. I want to dismantle him like fire.
1 tag
drinkupsparklingshamepain
2 tags
Eating Flowers, Joel Long
You have only the branches you came with, and that scent of tea in your mouth. I know there will be other flavors besides this dust of cinnamon sticks and acrid roses. Perhaps the skin will feel different when it soaks a while in rain filled with tiny oranges and slips of mint leaves. Then it may seem a refreshing planet, like an Eden where I can stay. Make flowers of your bones. Otherwise how...
2 tags
The News from M— by Lytton Smith
Here, where you all are, language is an accessory to bodies lying in the street, prone in government rooms, bloated in the waterways. Or language is an accessory to the refutation of bodies lying etc. This too will pass as search vessels in the delta pass for smuggling operations bringing illicit food to refugees being autocued for media appearances. What commerce would you with us all. What...
2 tags
2 tags
“Q: When you read your work on stage, do you ever feel anxious sharing so many...”
– PANK Blog / An Interview with Ocean Vuong By Amanda Mathews I recommend clicking through to read the rest of this stunning interview with poet Ocean Vuong.
3 tags
“It turns out when you said, ‘jobs, the economy, the budget’, what they heard...”
– Rachel Maddow (via ihatefunnythings)
“You have a soft spot. Contrary to popular belief, it is not where you are weak,...”
– Susan Piver. Thank you, Rev. Danny Fisher & Whiskey River. (via crashinglybeautiful) 