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@seraphsound
in retreat
letting my friend lock me out, temporarily
from myself, myself in the reflection of twitter
at least, is uncomfortable and god
ultimately i have no place to say, on a whim,
that ronald reaganâs treasury secretary was
named donald regan or that grey foxes, native
to my hill country,
like fruits and meats and veggies too
monogamous, did you know?
no guarantee that you saw before but
i just thought you should
is all
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making peace w my nature of being âthe kind to kick off [my] shoes and sit by the stove,â dreaming of sipping beer and fanning myself while i read w King.
âIn the wealthier countries, a mediocrity that hides the horrors of the rest of the world has prevailed. When those horrors release a violence that reaches into our cities and our habits weâre startled, weâre alarmed.â
@ people who carry bags everywhere what do you put in them what is there to bring other than chapstick, keys, phone and maybe a tampon why are you packing a suitcase to be outside for 5 hours
3 book options, case for designer shades, sunscreen obvs, joints, hair claw, laptop?, water, bike lock, space for frivolous fruit and fancy purchases
bf follows my alt on twitter so maybe iâll come back to do my depressed jezebel bullshit
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intoxicant
find me a woman
who loves jasmine
arbitrarily in your arms and
yet expectant opening her petals
one by one to crush them
against your chest and your face and
your thighs solid under their indolic
wait, my lips suggest, upturned
to my teenage coworkers that said in rainbows is a bad album, this one goes out to you
Willy Spiller, New York Subway, 1977 - 1984
âI met a boy who smelled of oranges and could tell of such tragic romances that I wept as I drew his blood.â Larissa Lai, Salt Fish Girl
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2b
youâre eating / a piece of eden /Â for breakfast / and all you can think is about the kids / saving their last crumb / of hope / for a midnight snack / your hands shake trying to outclass the earthâs quake / and all you can think / is who you should have been /Â good with money / better in love and fastened / like a glittering bracelet / to any single cause / like saving rhinos / or just one equation / an esoteric path to the moon / by kite
you hang yourself / acrylic asking for too much / next to the coffee shop window jitterbug ballerina /mainlining / the day through a glowing screen / you hang there like your own eviction notice / re: you lived too loudly / re: your fists on the walls scared the neighbors / now the city is after your dog-eared copy / of idealism / now the city hunts you down / from every car window / cease and desist / you cannot build paradise here
you are tied up in stakes / bound / hands and feet / to a destiny that just wonât sit still / impatiently waiting / for a clear sentence / and judgement / to fall head first / from its tower of gold
you weigh the worth of your potions and spells in a currency / that prefers bank vaults / to the mysticism of trees / and you consider calling yourself coroner /come to declare the death of magic / if it pays the bills / because youâre not convinced you can hex your way / out of another defeat / youâre not sure you can own / your tireless pursuit of why
a crisis of identity / brews in your morning coffee and the world deserves to know / why you couldnât sleep last night / the world is desperate to find out / how you made gills / out of knife wounds / and turned cigarette burn scars / into light-catching scales
where some / have only prayer / you were given whale song / where some / have only cruel and silent gods / the entirety of the ocean / serenades you / from the smallest of shells / bestowed by the waves / you are a creature / of the deep / foretold in the tea leaves / you grow lightning bolts / in place of limbs / everything stands in awe / of your slow bid for sky
now that i live in nyc, thinking about december 2018 when a firefighter i was eating 5a post bar breakfast with held my hand as he read this poem and my (now) estranged friend drunkenly hot on his brother? friend? before we carried her to a cab i couldnât afford and fled into the night, never to see him again
iâll never forget the weight of his palm in mine and how much i believed his awe in me
Longing, of course, becomes its own object, the way
that desire can make anything into a god.
The Death of AntinoĂźs, Mark Doty
2b
youâre eating / a piece of eden /Â for breakfast / and all you can think is about the kids / saving their last crumb / of hope / for a midnight snack / your hands shake trying to outclass the earthâs quake / and all you can think / is who you should have been /Â good with money / better in love and fastened / like a glittering bracelet / to any single cause / like saving rhinos / or just one equation / an esoteric path to the moon / by kite
you hang yourself / acrylic asking for too much / next to the coffee shop window jitterbug ballerina /mainlining / the day through a glowing screen / you hang there like your own eviction notice / re: you lived too loudly / re: your fists on the walls scared the neighbors / now the city is after your dog-eared copy / of idealism / now the city hunts you down / from every car window / cease and desist / you cannot build paradise here
you are tied up in stakes / bound / hands and feet / to a destiny that just wonât sit still / impatiently waiting / for a clear sentence / and judgement / to fall head first / from its tower of gold
you weigh the worth of your potions and spells in a currency / that prefers bank vaults / to the mysticism of trees / and you consider calling yourself coroner /come to declare the death of magic / if it pays the bills / because youâre not convinced you can hex your way / out of another defeat / youâre not sure you can own / your tireless pursuit of why
a crisis of identity / brews in your morning coffee and the world deserves to know / why you couldnât sleep last night / the world is desperate to find out / how you made gills / out of knife wounds / and turned cigarette burn scars / into light-catching scales
where some / have only prayer / you were given whale song / where some / have only cruel and silent gods / the entirety of the ocean / serenades you / from the smallest of shells / bestowed by the waves / you are a creature / of the deep / foretold in the tea leaves / you grow lightning bolts / in place of limbs / everything stands in awe / of your slow bid for sky
feeling like a small, unbreakable mirror that sometimes shatters the people i reflect
by chasingtheshiftinglight
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wraithing around town
drawing blood sigils in the dirt to call down heaven and send the flow of suffering somewhere else, send the loneliness home for the night to experience real solitude, the kind that breathes stardust onto your cheeks and loses your nickname to eternity on purpose lest someone else share in such a private moment.
there may never be another starshine for me, a sigh inducing thought that is at once tragic and meaningless if you think too hard about it.
magic is dark in ways that anger could only dream of, soft and forgiving even if it doesnât want to be, just like me. iâm still talking myself into vulnerability as a strength but I am so scared of this place that youâve found me in, so scared youâre yet another cosmic traveler just passing through the mines of my heart.
my dirty palms only know offering, only know give give give, surrender as treasure, and this faith in futility is more salvation than pitiful god could ever hope to be. either way my eyes are on the ore in my hands, impossibly wide and daring to ask you to help me process it all.
surely your fingerprints gently pressed down my muddy spine are proof that you saw a glimmer of diamond in my cavernous, echoing emptiness surely this thread is worth excavating
âThe world is a hellish place, and bad writing is destroying the quality of our suffering.â
â tom waits (via visual-poetry)
