keats

Excerpts From The Letters He Writes Me

When separate from you my blood will ache. An unknown part of me will ache and I’ll try to kill it. Or grab it. The cell that misses you will throb in me, and I won’t be able to spot it, it changes position often, drags out the game, hurts my senses. My eyesight will worsen, my auditory range will dwindle, and my nose, a hunting dog’s, will search for your smell. Whenever air touches my skin, a fiend will pierce my body and flee. My memory will hurt and eat my head, and my head will vanish but not die. My ache will regenerate my head. I’ll grow sad, an invisible feeling, a ruin, an infinite overflow of dread. And the angry universe will collect itself in a corner of my life to ask me: What have you done with the scale of love? How did you waste openness on detail? The answer will hurt me as will silence. Burning, I’ll go to my death and demand my right to a nap.

[Over 40K words written for the first draft, challenging myself to finish this draft tomorrow.]

Herakles - Euripides (Tr. Anne Carson)

Instagram credit: meshariver

Louise Glück, from “Marathon”, Poems 1962 - 2012

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Eventually everything connects.

If my body could sprak; "eat" by blythe baird // ocean voung // pinterest // ? // @ibvyache // holly warburton // @star-eaters @antidecay // @chenchenwrites on twitter // domenico fiasella // hum, hum by mary oliver

Natalie Díaz, from "American Arithmetic", Postcolonial Love Poem

— excerpt from “landscape with a blur of conquerors” by richard siken