swimming eyes

Photo

Fri, 24 May 2013 11:46:38 -0400

Boy - “Little Numbers” and every song just makes me...

Thu, 23 May 2013 13:56:00 -0400

Boy - “Little Numbers”

and every song just makes me think of you, because the singer sounds as if she was longing too. i read your name on every wall. tell me, is there a cure for me at all?

Ralph Angel, "Even Because"

Tue, 21 May 2013 19:52:07 -0400

Because it all just breaks apart, and the pieces scatter and
rearrange without much fanfare or notice.

Because you can’t and don’t remember the step that kicked up
dust and left this planet—you’d give up even more now.

Because the body itself—the heart’s

not dead but deeper, wrapped up in curtains, a different color,
among the railings and the pigeons, the rooftops and walls—

for all you know it’s a question of bread

or beer.

Because even love

returns. The city’s all brightness

and shadow, deckle-edged, bluer than air—there’s no help
anywhere—you no longer know how to listen.

And love says, love—midnight to midnight,

already ablaze. And the boulevard—wide-open. And the well-
stocked crowdless market, and a lone taxi blears.

Even happiness—the way anger’s come back to roost again.
And joy, though joy’s not in the ear or the eye. On this walk

the gulls hover offshore and the islands are speckled with fire.

Even love, even because.

Neal Rock, “Lethe” 2009

Sun, 19 May 2013 13:42:58 -0400

Neal Rock, “Lethe” 2009

Jeffrey McDaniel, "Absence"

Sat, 18 May 2013 15:51:38 -0400

On the scales of desire, your absence weighs more
than someone else’s presence, so I say no thanks

to the woman who throws her girdle at my feet,
as I drop a postcard in the mailbox and watch it

throb like a blue heart in the dark. Your eyes
are so green – one of your parents must be

part traffic light. We’re both self-centered,
but the world revolves around us at the same speed.

Last night I tossed and turned inside a thundercloud.
This morning my sheets were covered in pollen.

I remember the long division of Saturday’s
pomegranate, a thousand nebulae in your hair,

as soldiers marched by, dragging big army bags
filled with water balloons, and we passed a lit match,

back and forth, between our lips, under an oak tree
I had absolutely nothing to do with.

Lido Marini

Fri, 17 May 2013 13:26:26 -0400

Lido Marini

Jimmy Fallon

Thu, 16 May 2013 19:57:31 -0400

internetlucy:

I saw you in the distance
or did I see a strange and beautiful fish
and assign it to your body by accident

I am more tired than most women
I have cried in numerous bathtubs

I want to skip ahead to the part that is funny
I want this to be that already
instead of whatever part it is instead

Outside the church, there is a poster of a bus full of nuns
advertising their life of chastity and heavy fabric

Do you think about them? How even in darkness there is some luminous quality
that might be happiness

Just give me time

Photo

Wed, 15 May 2013 13:27:58 -0400

i pull on my old underwearthe light pink pairwith white lace trimand every time i doi still remember...

Mon, 13 May 2013 14:02:00 -0400

i pull on my old underwear
the light pink pair
with white lace trim
and every time i do
i still remember that day
(just over two years ago now)
we were smoking weed on your brown leather couch
napping away our hangovers
me in my short grey dress
with some white socks i borrowed
from you
for my cold feet
the socks were so bright white against my tan legs

and i woke up to you behind me
pulling this pair of underwear to the side
your dick hard in your hand.

i have worn
this pair of underwear
probably almost a hundred times since then
but that is still the
only memory attached to them.
i can’t remember anything else i have done
while wearing this underwear.
only you,
behind me,
as i slowly woke up.

Egon Schiele, “Setting Sun” 1913

Fri, 10 May 2013 12:46:43 -0400

Egon Schiele, “Setting Sun” 1913

untitled / false spring

Tue, 07 May 2013 11:39:40 -0400

aleashurmantine:

The cherry blossoms have been curling
in on themselves, skeleton hands, leaving
a hazel carpeting on the sidewalk,

so you drive. Here is movement you can
control, a wheel that turns only when you let it.
Here is a hard shell. Here is an embrace

that doesn’t ask questions. Right on Belmont,
thirty blocks toward Mt. Tabor. Climb uphill
without noticing the incline. You were supposed

to be bigger than this—mind like a gilded library,
belfry for a throat, a shimmering ball gown,
a man to love you so hard he’d break your bones.

Now you’ve grown impatient, started
breaking them yourself. Take the freeway north.
Exit on a whim, head east. Your loneliness

is a parasite. Its hunger, oceanic. It is
as regular as breathing now, this thing gnawing
inside you, this monstrous want. Cut

through a small town. The road curves,
the trees close in, the streetlamps drop away.
You looked at him and forgot you

had a mouth and reached out your arms and
he doesn’t want you anymore. So who will?
You’ve promised to write so many letters.

Gliding alongside the river, the shadowy sentinel
pines—it’s almost like swimming, the way
you cut through the thick night. The way you wait

until you’re dizzy before you come up for air.
Around the bend, another pair of headlights,
at first blinding, then gone.

Winston Chmielinski, “The Canopy is Falling”

Mon, 06 May 2013 14:38:54 -0400

Winston Chmielinski, “The Canopy is Falling”

Christina Davis, "Advertisement for the Mountain"

Fri, 03 May 2013 12:48:41 -0400

There are two versions of every life.

In the first one, you get a mother, a father,
your very own room.

You learn to walk, which is only done by walking.
You learn the past tense of have, which is hunger.

You learn to ask almost anything
is to ask it to be over,
as when the lover asks the other

“Are you sleeping? Are you beginning
to go away?”

(And whether or not you learn it, life does not penetrate
more than five miles above the earth
or reach more than three miles beneath the sea.

Life is eight miles long.

You could walk it, and be there before sundown.
Or swim it, or fall it, or crawl it.)

The second is told from the point
of view of the sky.

King of Clubs

Wed, 01 May 2013 14:02:00 -0400

King of Clubs

Jack Gilbert, "Going There"

Tue, 30 Apr 2013 10:49:41 -0400

Of course it was a disaster.
The unbearable, dearest secret
has always been a disaster.
The danger when we try to leave.
Going over and over afterward
what we should have done
instead of what we did.
But for those short times
we seemed to be alive. Misled,
misused, lied to and cheated,
certainly. Still, for that
little while, we visited
our possible life.

therumpus: The Rumblr’s in-house astrologer, Madame...

Tue, 30 Apr 2013 00:04:12 -0400

therumpus:

The Rumblr’s in-house astrologer, Madame Clairevoyant, presents her latest dispatch from the stars:

Aquarius: This is a week for you to get free from everything that’s been weighing you down, everything that’s been hiding in the ugly corners at the back of your brain. This week’s all about feeling right, feeling safe, getting what you need in order to run wild through the world. Work on learning how to fix your bike, how to fix your car, how to take care of yourself in the smallest, most concrete ways. Work on learning how to call your friends when you need them. Listen to The Breeders.

"Come away with me, he said, we will live on a desert island. I said, I am a desert island. It was..."

Mon, 29 Apr 2013 23:46:23 -0400

“Come away with me, he said, we will live on a desert island. I said, I am a desert island. It was not what he had in mind.”

- Margaret Atwood (from “Circe/Mud Poems”)

delawareareyou: bathos re: lake ontario.

Mon, 29 Apr 2013 16:59:00 -0400

delawareareyou:

bathos re: lake ontario.

Stephen Dunn, "Each From Different Heights"

Fri, 26 Apr 2013 12:10:37 -0400

That time I thought I was in love
and calmly said so
was not much different from the time
I was truly in love
and slept poorly and spoke out loud
to the wall
and discovered the hidden genius
of my hands

And the times I felt less in love,
less than someone
were, to be honest, not so different
either.

Each was ridiculous in its own way
and each was tender, yes,
sometimes even the false is tender.

I am astounded
by the various kisses we’re capable of.
Each from different heights
diminished, which is simply the law.

And the big bruise
from the longer fall looked perfectly white
in a few years.
That astounded me most of all.

Herbert Pfostl, “Little Care I Take”

Wed, 24 Apr 2013 12:18:49 -0400

Herbert Pfostl, “Little Care I Take”