sugar is smoking by Jason Schneiderman
sugar is smoking by Jason Schneiderman it’s amazing how death is always around the corner, or not even so far away as that, hiding in the little pleasures that some of us would go so far as to say are the only things keeping us alive
she attributes smoking rates to neighborhoods laughs and says habits are harder than the street corners here even parking spaces are hereditary we need love like we love vice, and laughed again like we need children to ward an empty home see, these chronicles become our own death, she says this smoke spirals back – it’s all circulatory, all terminal and really, it’s all like with...
Champion your doubt and let it catalyze you.– Jeffrey Davis
5 ways to reduce inflammation
apply the weight of hope. the silent and violence enduring, a long and worn suffering alike stay indoors, make cocktails with the herbs you’ve grown in azalea pots on the windowsill sit still and suffer. sit stiller still correct your diet, stick to sweet grains dressed in streams of dusty sun ignore the terrible, the reaping of stalks that fall like rain your eyesight is inexcusable, see ...
(SOUNDtrack OF A THIRSTY TREE)
a bloom like cap guns, soundless by slow speeds a thousand times delayed we cry for our appetites when bubbles appear, when the trigger is pulled if rains interference strikes seldom and smacks our foot to heals great spirit toed stake to new soil and newness clean the records spin do not try this slow, nor woken gait in a need to timber sick, the dangerous and young leave the spools...
be close or willing to travel
will you set your bearing once ,in motion with tarmac holding your churning hands the peripheral breathing, the digital ,past the newly restored, implants of lightening if you collapse miles in this modern doide if out from quaking, our jaws ,if avoidance of cancellation fees, I’m charged ,assured my hands blink from existence each may and I’ll tell you how my once lover ,once left to travel,...
This is what writing is: I one language, I another language, and between the...– Hélène Cixous, from Three Steps on the Ladder of Writing (via poetryeater)
Word of the Day for Monday, April 1, 2013
ha-ha \HAH-hah, noun: sunk fence.
Benin Road Speed is violence Power is violence Weight violence The...– Chinua Achebe 11/16/1930 - 3/21/2013
dear betsy ross, do your remember your ghost ramps in the early 70s? how you felt to be incomplete the children you buried on evel’s inclines tolls issued in the opposite direction, I find that I have fallen in love with your bypass, with your pay by play, whatever the cost I’ll make sure your curve comes to ground by night, the heaviest lanes are line of tulips two by two rows of flush light...
read then listen then read...
Motown Philly Back Again by Harmony Holiday We’re all pagans and shamans and clap your hands now we won’t stop the beat We believe in divine healing and we hate to see that evening sun go down We know when the sight of our women dressed in white each ritual night, is touching, hypnotizes The animals blush and split for us as revival, as revealed to...
genesis in standard time
the seasons between solstices share in agreement folded as though they have shared a bed, roused by a disquieting recognition in creased newness the returning waft of dark roast brewing and grease furls geese are in transit again. not due.. is that north but who’s to say what is being born today or what was grown the garden is overgrowing is hemming the lines of myself...
dont lose heart comrades! think of the delicious colours ahead!– the rainbow goblins, ulde rico
one word →
WRITE EVERY DAY
Writing is a muscle. Smaller than a hamstring and slightly bigger than a bicep, and it needs to be exercised to get stronger. Think of your words as reps, your paragraphs as sets, your pages as daily workouts. Think of your laptop as a machine like the one at the gym where you open and close your inner thighs in front of everyone, exposing both your insecurities and your genitals. Because that is...
Word of the Day for Monday, January 28, 2013
word-hoard \WURD-hawrd, noun: A person’s vocabulary.
Love Poem by Graham Foust
Love Poem by Graham Foust What would pick through our shadows would tear them, too, were we to give it time enough and reason. We will, it will-the rest won’t be history. How would you like to go for a walk with me?
please is a form of apology
this is to confess: I left the door ajar let that the rain stain the spaces on the varnish sparse floor where my fault lay. the items lifted and animals let astray. to say I knew what I was doing, at the time oversteps these sovereign grounds, these parallels boundaries of contemplation and loosely prescribe lines this particular string? this line sown in knitting of infinite is infinite, and...
Obscurity and Selfhood by C. D. Wright →
most beautiful poem of the week.
A = A by Andrew Joron
A = A by Andrew Joron Mine to ask a mask to say, A is not A. No one, ever the contrarian, to answer. The moon is both divided & multiplied by water: as chance, as the plural of chant. O diver, to be sea-surrounded by a thought bled white—- a blankness as likely as blackness. What is the word for getting words & forgetting? Might night right sight? ...
Grammar is a piano I play by ear, since I seem to have been out of school the...– ~Joan Didion
He said, “Listen. Look. Desire is a house. Desire needs closed space. Desire...– from the story Motherfucker by Aimee Bender (via dountiltrue)
Glass Corona →