March 2012
45 posts
1 tag
February 2012
22 posts
there is a universe up back through my thighs that moves out of place and leaves a grease
grease: a thick oil or viscous substance, fatty matter rendered from an animal
a grease I’ve secretly let sit on my tongue and hurts to taste something working against a loving texture but tougher than bitterness petrified between my lips and it speaks hums does something with the strings of a guitar...
Gwendolyn Brooks.
Well, enough of slump, enough of Old Story. Like a clean spear of fire. I am moving. I am not still. I am ready to be ready. I shall flail in the Hot time. (from The Near-Johannesburg Boy)
Sit down. Inhale. Exhale. The gun will wait. The lake will wait. The tall gall in the small seductive vial will wait will wait: will wait a week: will wait through April. You do not have to die this certain...
“You simply keep putting down one damn word after the other, as they come to you....”
– Anne Lamott, Bird by Bird. (via paperbackgirl)
1 tag
When I Am an Old Woman I Shall Wear Purple
by Jenny Joseph
When I am an old woman, I shall wear purple
with a red hat that doesn’t go, and doesn’t suit me.
And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves
and satin candles, and say we’ve no money for butter.
I shall sit down on the pavement when I am tired
and gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells
and run my stick along the public railings
and make up...
“You followin me.” He grinned. And she felt herself swimming through the gap in his teeth. And now she would have to tell him. ‘Cause she had lost three times to the coin flipped on yesterday morning. Had lost to the icepick pitched in the afternoon in the dare-I-don’t-I boxes her toe had sketched in the yard. Had lost at supper to the shadow slanting across the...
1 tag
WatchDaisy Bates: First Lady of Little Rock
1 tag
“Keepers of private notebooks are a different breed altogether, lonely and...”
There’s no pink left in her mouth. You couldn’t reach down and swallow no mint if you tried and everything on her frame is called dressing down. Torn and brown, pale, too loose. She ain’t even gotta narrow smile, a half moon, somethin to grab when you turn the bend. There’s no pink left in her mouth. She’s got nothin sweet hiding or pullin at her sides.
rising deep
flaneur-:
let’s be silent. let’s swallow whole these absences that separate our conversations into delicious ripples. and we will be over taken. be overjoyed. let these words, these feelings move mountains beneath us. between us. let it shake the distance in half.
how about a crumbling over precipice?
how about a shattering? a breaking of barriers.
how close would we be- closer than sand and...
Linebreak: The Mail Order Bride Attempts a Letter...
Mother he is A gentleman of honor he is A builder of ships My hands have gone Coarse, upholstered in Orchard, mending, churn My corset has Collapsed, spider heap I freckle, I lengthen, I watch Other wives, the sweep Of their skirts, their flocking I am compassless, astir, A map trembling Mother I’ve grown Taller I’ve let down my hems I am fruit-stained Mornings, my harvest: golden ...