May 2012
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Because I'll Never Swim in Every Ocean | Catherine...
Want is ten thousand blue feathers falling all around me, and me unable to stomach that I might catch five but never ten thousand. So I drop my hands to my sides and wait to be buried. I open a book and the words spring and taunt. Flashes—motel, lapidary, piranha—of every story, every poem I’ll never know well enough to conjure in sleep. What’s the point of words if I can’t own them all? I toss...
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An Almost Made Up Poem | Charles Bukowski
I see you drinking at a fountain with tiny blue hands, no, your hands are not tiny they are small, and the fountain is in France where you wrote me that last letter and I answered and never heard from you again. you used to write insane poems about ANGELS AND GOD, all in upper case, and you knew famous artists and most of them were your lovers, and I wrote back, it’ all right, go ahead,...
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Cards →
She tried writing the letter herself. There was a long debate with the nib of her pen whether it was appropriate to begin with “dear.” There had to be an easier way to explain “outgrowing you,” a more palatable phrase to replace “I am unhappy.”
In a bookstore, she lingered away from the shelves of old literature. The weight of timeless love did not help. Past the pens and stationery, she headed...
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I Almost Went To Bed... | Leonard Cohen
I almost went to bed without remembering the four white violets I put in the button-hole of your green sweater and how i kissed you then and you kissed me shy as though I’d never been your lover
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Maybe In Another Universe, I Deserve You →
“Maybe there’s a universe where I’m the right person for you. Where I adore every nice thing you did for me without starting to resent you. A universe where you actually end up with someone who appreciates you. Where no one becomes a doormat. Where both of us can shed our baggage and curiosity and issues. A universe where we’re happy — without wondering if that happiness is some messed-up...
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The Letter | Linda Gregg
I’m not feeling strong yet, but I am taking good care of myself. The weather is perfect. I read and walk all day and then walk to the sea. I expect to swim soon. For now I am content. I am not sure what I hope for. I feel I am doing my best. It reminds me of when I was sixteen dreaming of Lorca, the gentle trees outside and the creek. Perhaps poetry replaces something in me that others receive...
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The End | Arkaye Kierulf →
You must have felt it working in your bones. It’s begun: The papers print the same stories over and over, and have you checked
the obituaries? Already, nobody remembers
how their first kiss went. The phone keeps ringing and ringing when nobody’s home. Between our skins is a necessary friction
that separates us forever. Look: space. Somewhere, a lost key. It’s begun: What was once the wind or an...
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April 2012
