February 2012
275 posts
5 tags
Questions
What kind of mother tells
her children stories of
a man killing his own son?
(my ears closed hands
tugging the book from the
shelf hands tearing pages
cleanly out hands flipping
the broken binding into a
dark space it will join the
peels and old paper)
I won’t tell my children
of such things.
7 tags
Locks
when your hair tangles
easily
your fingers catching in its
twisted ends
I’ll comb it for you
-
my hands as gentle as
your lips
my heart as open as
your eyes
7 tags
“It’s a curious reflection: what are people most afraid of? Of doing something...”
– Fyodor Dostoyevsky, Crime and Punishment (via conitor)
3 tags
6 tags
A Justification
If you use the word
realistic
to describe my work,
it would sound to me like
a death sentence,
(the bell tolling on my existence and I climb
heavy wooden steps towards the scaffold).
No,
I don’t try for realism,
truth,
or ordinariness.
My work is not here
to entertain you -
it’s for me.
I will never be one of
those girls
who have lunches paid for
by strange handsome...
7 tags
Pierce
I can’t explain,
make excuses
for the way I love that
silver sliver
slithering
around your lip,
a tiny rebellion
your tongue feels its thin metallic edge
you taste my name
shamblesband:
Ryan Adams - Dear Chicago
chicagoroses:
Coming soon to a blog near you.
awaitingthebreakofthesun:
Man in fire, played the piano to Lady in water.
Her cries grew the Earth, breathed in a sigh.
“Oh, darling, you will be good to me, won’t you? Because we’re going to have a...”
– Ernest Hemingway, A Farewell to Arms (via aestivial)
