February 2010
25 posts
1 tag
January 2010
25 posts
December 11th Anne Sexton
Then I think of you in bed,
your tongue half chocolate, half ocean,
of the houses that you swing into,
of the steel wool hair on your head,
of your persistent hands and then
how we gnaw at the barrier because we are two.
How you come and take my blood cup
and link me together and take my brine.
We are bare. We are stripped to the bone
and we swim in tandem and...
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all i ever see ‘round here are
things of hers that you
left lyin’ around
The Same Old Figurative Joel M. Toledo
Yes, the world is strange, riddled with difficult sciences
and random magic. But there are compensations, things we do
perceive: the high cries and erratic spirals of sparrows,
the sky gray and now giving in to the regular rain.
Still we insist on meaning, that common consolation
that, now and then, makes for beauty. Or disaster.
Listen. The new...
how many hours of our lives, i ask, are spent looking up at ceilings?
and not at skies, he answers.
every time i look at you, i see the sky.
when i look at you, he says, i see the ocean. temperamental and vast.
we pass the cigarette between warm fingers, the air thick with sex and history. there are years between us that have passed unnoticed, traced across the bare trajectory of skin,...
True Love Sharon Olds In the middle of the night, when we get up after making love, we look at each other in complete friendship, we know so fully what the other has been doing. Bound to each other like mountaineers coming down from a mountain, bound with the tie of the delivery room, we wander down the hall to the bathroom, I can hardly walk, I wobble through the granular shadowless air,...
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we brought his broken record player to solutions in silverlake, home of the elliott smith wall, and were greeted by a fiftyish chinese man with horrible jokes about pop stars and their height. troy walked out with a wry smile, like: these strange people in this city—here is where i belong. we come home greeted by afternoon, where the sunlight comes in at an angle, making obtuse patterns on...
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today the entire house smelled of sandalwood, sunlight burning bright through the triptych of windowed doors, and i learned how to make mexican rice, staples that fill the belly. two cups water to one cup of rice, aromas children woke up to centuries earlier. the warmth here creeps up onto the floorboards, sunlight and shade intermingling in the hills. how sweet it is to dream and wake and be...
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a new year and the advent of domestic bliss, and not a second too soon—the weather is perfect for long walks up and down pasadena hills and the chill of old hardwood creaking beneath bare feet. furniture is sparse but for the time being the space is closer to perfect than i could have imagined. records, guitars, a purple scarf to hang over our lampshade. a space to call our own. we rang the...