September 2011
34 posts
August 2011
50 posts
Mary Oliver, "August"
When the blackberries hang
swollen in the woods, in the brambles
nobody owns, I spend
all day among the high
branches, reaching
my ripped arms, thinking
of nothing, cramming
the black honey of summer
into my mouth; all day my body
accepts what it is. In the dark
creeks that run by there is
this thick paw of my life darting among
the black bells, the leaves; there is
this happy tongue.
“if the moon is a portal
a gate to the real
like panties like heaven
a palace of skin
her fall will unlock it
a finger running
her lover’s spine
a key a bolt tearing
one gold tooth one
gold star at a time
from the sky’s body
eternal partner in crime
the strings that hold her
all want no pain only
breathless brilliance bring” —excerpt from Makeshift Instructions for Vigilant Girls by Erika Meitner
a gate to the real
like panties like heaven
a palace of skin
her fall will unlock it
a finger running
her lover’s spine
a key a bolt tearing
one gold tooth one
gold star at a time
from the sky’s body
eternal partner in crime
the strings that hold her
all want no pain only
breathless brilliance bring” —excerpt from Makeshift Instructions for Vigilant Girls by Erika Meitner
allegory
Dawn on its knees
crawls toward knowledge.
More of us are coming.
All of the adoring.
Every day is another broken
tie on a red-leather shoe. A whodo-
you-wish-to-be?
Tonight we’ll be content
with whomever we think we are.
that man
That man over there
looking sidelong
as you sidelong
smile I do not think
he’s a god
or frankly that great
but it’s true he’s glowing
under your eyes &
obliterating
the sun that moments ago
was shining on this bench
where we sit across
from him now
“The history of art is the history of iconoclasm, the history of some new voice saying that everything you know is wrong.”
—Richard Powers (via theparisreview)
