•  28 May 2012  •  1 note

fluttering-slips:

Blue-Black

Sweat rains
over a river—
I end in you,
delight in our
slick;

we rub our eyes until
we’ve made owls
of each other:
under the lurching
fur of eyebrows,
the blue and green
of our sight glows,
flicks out and open.

I pull my body,
an alabaster mask,
and push—your fingers
like pale…

•  26 May 2012  •  4 notes

(Source: trollexa, via vocatus)

•  17 May 2012  •  20,026 notes

“You must make this mistake once—
pour boiling liquid into a blender, then pulse it.
Watch the steam blow the lid straight off.
When you see your burned hands, you’ll scream.
Other mistakes you repeat, finding yourself
in a familiar place, but worn out, like pigeons
circling a roof, the flock growing bigger,
then smaller. It will be this way with love.
Your neighbor plays something on the accordion,
starting and stopping before seeing it through,
but it’s not what you expected. It’s not even
about getting it right. You think it’s about
protecting yourself, and eventually you will—
not by learning how to love, but how to do so less often.”

— Kellam Ayres, Practice (via grammatolatry)

•  16 May 2012  •  91 notes

warsanshire:

‘WHATEVER YOU DO, DON’T FUNK WITH MY GROOVE’. 

video directed by beloved dream hampton.

•  16 May 2012  •  64 notes

“Words do not express thoughts very well. They always become a little different immediately after they are expressed, a little distorted, a little foolish. And yet it also pleases me and seems right that what is of value and wisdom to one man seems nonsense to another.”

— Hermann Hesse, Demian

(Source: liberumarbitriumindifferentiae)

•  8 May 2012  •  23 notes

“

Because I mistrust my head & hands, because I know salt

tinctures my songs, I tried hard not to touch you
even as I pulled you into my arms. Seasons sprouted

& went to seed as we circled the dance with silver cat bells
tied to our feet. Now, kissing you, I am the archheir of second
chances.
Because I know twelve ways to be wrong

& two to be good, I was wounded by the final question in the cave,
left side of the spirit level’s quiver. I didn’t want to hug you

into a cross, but I’m here to be measured down to each numbered
bone.

A trembling runs through what pulls us to the blood knot.
We hold hands & laugh in the East Village as midnight autumn

shakes the smoke of the Chicago B.L.U.E.S. club from our clothes,
& you say I make you happy & sad. For years I stopped my hands

in midair, knowing fire at the root stem of yes.
I say your name, & another dies in my mouth because I know how

to plead till a breeze erases the devil’s footprints,

because I crave something to sing the blues about. Look,
I only want to hold you this way: a bundle of wild orchids

broken at the wet seam of memory & manna.

”

— Yusef Komunyakaa, Canticle

(Source: yesyes, via grammatolatry)

•  7 May 2012  •  325 notes

warsanshire:

-

remember when you asked me

what one thing would all your exes say about you?

i should have answered

that i’m always running away.

and what could i blame?

the war

my father

that thing no one talks about

the home i grew up in

all the bad things that happened when no one was looking.

(do you know how many times i’ve broken my own heart)

you’ve just taught me to to stay,

even if you don’t want to stay.

-

•  7 May 2012  •  143 notes