"So many words get lost. They leave the mouth and lose their courage, wandering aimlessly until they are swept into the gutter like dead leaves."
Nicole Krauss, The History Of Love (via lifesomeday)
183 Poetry: After Mayakovsky by Denis Johnson It’s after one. You’re probably...
After Mayakovsky
by Denis Johnson
It’s after one. You’re probably alone.
All night the moon rings like a telephone
in an empty booth above our separateness.
Now is the hour one answers. I am home.
Hello my heart, my God, my President,
my darling: I’m alarmed by the alarm
clock’s iridescent face, hung like a charm
from darkness’s fat ear. This accident
that was my life will have its witnesses:
now, while the world lies wholly motionless
and sorry in a crapulence of stars,
now is the hour one rises to address
the ages and history and the universe:
I swear you’ll never see my face again.
183 Poetry: Rain at the Beach by Jennifer Chapis This light makes me think of a...
Rain at the Beach
by Jennifer Chapis
This light makes me think of a house underwater.
Because the ocean has corners
I cannot stop looking for you.
Careful, the red jellyfish
washed up onshore
sting after they’re dead. My mother said
a soul mate is
problematic. I imagine a mother and a daughter
with dripping wet hair
running down the beach
holding hands. Left out in the rain,
a painting of a beach house
with a boat parked inside
is still a painting of a house.
Whoever said it’s difficult for artists
to be original
probably wasn’t an artist.
My new vegetarian lover
ate snails
off the house as a kid.
(via aureate-soul)
“I want what we all want,” said Carl. “To move certain parts of the interior of myself into the exterior world, to see if they can be embraced.” ― Jonathan Lethem, You Don’t Love Me Yet
Paintings by Jacek Yerka
(via rainbeauxcrash)
(via lustingnewyork)
