Flowers Tumblr Themes
Entropy Words
Life became more clear.
It’s like being clad in a straight-jacket and bow-tie
and having to crawl toward a hidden door in a room
as large as a baseball stadium and as dark as the scream
from someone’s throat. That someone is you. Don’t yell
too hard. You may wake up and realize life
isn’t like that. It isn’t really like anything.
But life does like itself and it needs you.
From Synesthesia by Steve Fellner
I want you to see this before I leave:
the experience of repetition as death
the failure of criticism to locate the pain
the poster in the bus that said:
my bleeding is under control.
From A Valediction Forbidding Mourning by Adrienne Rich
It’s Raining in Love by Richard Brautigan

I don’t know what it is,
but I distrust myself
when I start to like a girl
a lot.

It makes me nervous.
I don’t say the right things
or perhaps I start
to examine,
evaluate,
compute
what I am saying.

If I say, "Do you think it’s going to rain?"
and she says, "I don’t know,"
I start thinking : Does she really like me?

In other words
I get a little creepy.

A friend of mine once said,
"It’s twenty times better to be friends
with someone
than it is to be in love with them.”

I think he’s right and besides,
it’s raining somewhere, programming flowers
and keeping snails happy.
That’s all taken care of.

BUT

if a girl likes me a lot
and starts getting real nervous
and suddenly begins asking me funny questions
and looks sad if I give the wrong answers
and she says things like,
"Do you think it’s going to rain?"
and I say, "It beats me,"
and she says, "Oh,"
and looks a little sad
at the clear blue California sky,
I think : Thank God, it’s you, baby, this time
instead of me.

Last night at home in Cairo.

Don’t listen to me; my heart’s been broken.
I don’t see anything objectively.
From The Untrustworthy Speaker by Louise Gluck
I know myself; I’ve learned to hear like a psychiatrist.
When I speak passionately,
that’s when I’m least to be trusted.
From The Untrustworthy Speaker by Louise Gluck
I guess the gallows aren’t so bad. At least,
it’s outdoors, it’s theatrical: the executioner
with his little hood, the whole town
bunched around, waiting for my last breath
to be yanked out of me like a pink tissue
from a magician’s fist, when the plank
vanishes, the boiled rope extending
and snap—my mouth flashing open, body
jangling like a wind chime, how my feet
keep running for a few seconds, as if
there’s somewhere important I need to be.
From Meditations on the Death Penalty by Jeffrey McDaniel
you are a scuba diver looking down at his watch and realizing
you don’t have enough air to make it back to the surface
so you live down there among the spare tires
and the other things we do without
From Zugzwang by Jeffrey McDaniel
Tell me a story.

In this century, and moment, of mania,
Tell me a story.

Make it a story of great distances, and starlight.

The name of the story will be Time,
But you must not pronounce its name.

Tell me a story of deep delight.
From Tell Me a Story by Robert Penn Warren
That is your art form:
creating vestiges
out of lace and lashes.
Everything just fell away.
From While She’s Gone by Jim Carroll
And the only world is the world of my dreams.
From The Loom of Dreams by Arthur Symons
I fox ‘heart’, striking a modern breast
hollow as a drum, and ‘beauty’ I taboo.
From Sonnet #23 by John Berryman
What is there to say? The world is dumb
and sings. The world is dumb and speaks
in its big dumb voice that sometimes sounds
like a viola, very nice. Sometimes like diesels.
Or it insists on sign language, waving seasons
around like busy flags.
From Semiotics by Pamela Alexander
She writes sonnets on the mouths of her lovers so that all can read her words and feel the implications in an exchange of DNA.
From She Has by Anthony Cudahy
Every question
is a leading question.
Ask it anyway, then expect
what you won’t get.
From The Rules of Evidence by Lee Robinson