Remember my right hand to your hand
Remember my eye to your eye
Remember what I could not have
to what you have kept
Remember the symmetry the beauty
where exactly we cut ourselves
into two halves of a peach
of a fish
Remember my flesh to your flesh
all our pores listening like muffled ears
Remember to each our essential selfishness
the bridge that isn’t anywhere
Remember my breath to your breath
for no reason. this rythm
this perfection
permalink
As she laughed I was aware of becoming involved in her laughter and being part of it, until her teeth were only accidental stars with a talent for squad-drill. I was drawn in by short gasps, inhaled at each momentary recover, lost finally in the dark caverns of her throat, bruised by the ripple of unseen muscles.
permalink
Now my charms are all overthrown, and what strength I have’s mine own…
And my ending is despair,
unless I be relieved by prayer,
which pierces so, that it assaults mercy itself, and frees all faults…
As you from crimes would be pardoned be,
Let your indulgence set me free.
permalink
A woman finally learned how to love things, so things learned how to love her too as she pressed herself to their shining sides, their porous surfaces. She smoothed along walls until walls smoothed along her too, a joy, a climax, this flesh against plaster, the sweet suck of consenting molecules.
Sensitive men and women became followers, wrapping themselves in violet, pasting her image over their fast hearts, pressing against walls until walls came to appreciate differences in molecules. This became a worship. They became a love. A church. A cult. A way of being.
But, of course, it had to be: the woman’s love kept growing until she was loved by trees and appliances, from toasters to natural obstacles, until her ceiling shook loose to send kisses, sheets wound tight betwixt her legs, and floorboards broke free of their nails, straining their lengths over her sleeping.
She awoke and drove out of town alone. In love, rocks flew through her car windows, then whole hillsides slid, loosening with desire. Her car shattered its shaft to embrace her, but she ran from the wreckage, calling all the sweet things as she waited in a field of strangely complacent daisies.
She spoke of love until losing her breath, and the things trilled to feel that loss too, at last, sighing in thingness. She fell down, and the things fell down around her. She cried “Christ!” and the things cried “Christ!” in their thing-hearts until everything living and unliving wonderfully collided.
Cathleen Calbert, Bad Judgment: Poems
permalink
This is a book of light verse written by T.S. Eliot, entirely about cats, as the title would suggest.
No such thing exists for sharks.
(Apparently, for good reason.)
And so I awoke
I screamed
for the pain was unbearable
the air so chilled
Naked and alone
I choked on my vomit
ecstacy
the warmth of foriegn arms
Tomorrow I will walk
The day after
I will run
By Thursday I’ll find
my place in this world
permalink
A woman drew her long black hair out tight
And fiddled whisper music on those strings
And bats with baby faces in the violet light
Whistled, and beat their wings…
permalink
And then we can argue about the merit of life while holding hands, eating chocolate, being elitist… together.
All religion, my friend, is simply evolved out of fraud, fear, greed, imagination, and poetry.
permalink
I can make the earth stop in its tracks. I made the blue cars go away.
I can make myself invisible or small.
I can become gigantic & reach the farthest things. I can change the course of nature.
I can place myself anywhere in space or time.
I can summon the dead.
I can percieve events on other worlds, in my deepest inner mind, & in the minds of others.
I can
I am
- Jim Morrison
permalink