January 2011
20 posts
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The Bar Closes (But You Don’t Want To Go Home); aaron smith
While the man you love bites stories into someone else’s back, there’s a flicker in your eye only seen in late-night television (the heroine stretching her face, half- grin, half-cry), all you’ve done wrong clarified in a liquidy theme song. You say, the only party is my party, the only death worth dying is the disastrous one. If...
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Love Poem 2002; mary fons
this poem is for the pillow clutchers/for those looking into the imaginary eyes of the person who fills their mind with sugarplum smiles/for those who have a cannon of dreams ready and waiting to blossom/for the men and the women who want to be understood in that way that only someone who kisses you can understand you/this poem is for you. this poem is not for the...
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April: there's lightning. I saw it just now!
Nic: you mean my camera flash?!
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“Cheryl, why are you always on the losing team? you can be the president of the...”
– Nicole Heng, not so encouraging future Yummy Mummy (via hellolarkspur)
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So What; kim addonizio
Guess what. If love is only chemistry— phenylethylamine, that molecule that dizzies up the brain’s back room, smoky with hot bebop, it won’t be long until a single worker’s mopping up the scuffed and littered floor, whistling tunelessly, each endorphin cooling like a snuffed glass candle, the air stale with memory. So what, you say; outside, a shadow lifts...
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ANTILAMENTATION; dorianne laux
Regret nothing. Not the cruel novels you read to the end just to find out who killed the cook. Not the insipid movies that made you cry in the dark, in spite of your intelligence, your sophistication. Not the lover you left quivering in a hotel parking lot, the one you beat to the punchline, the door, or the one who left you in your red dress and shoes, the ones...
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THE FORGOTTEN DIALECT OF THE HEART; jack gilbert
How astonishing it is that language can almost mean, and frightening that it does not quite. Love, we say, God, we say, Rome and Michiko, we write, and the words get it all wrong. We say bread and it means according to which nation. French has no word for home, and we have no word for strict pleasure. A people in northern India is dying out because...
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