October 17, 2014
So much I have forgotten in ten years,So much in ten brief years! I have forgotWhat time the purple apples come to juice,And what month brings the shy forget-me-not.…The yellow by-road mazing from the main,Sweet with the golden threads of the rose-apple.I have forgotten - strange - but quite rememberThe poinsettia’s red, blood-red in warm December.
-From Flame-Heart, Claude McKay
Nothing like a new flame in October. A month made for fires and curling up in front of them. For now, I have a cat and a space heater and that suits me just fine.  

So much I have forgotten in ten years,
So much in ten brief years! I have forgot
What time the purple apples come to juice,
And what month brings the shy forget-me-not.

The yellow by-road mazing from the main,
Sweet with the golden threads of the rose-apple.
I have forgotten - strange - but quite remember
The poinsettia’s red, blood-red in warm December.

-From Flame-Heart, Claude McKay

Nothing like a new flame in October. A month made for fires and curling up in front of them. For now, I have a cat and a space heater and that suits me just fine.  

October 15, 2014
Dishes

Each plate a shield
Long languid rows of porcelain armor
Stacked against me

The soap a little moat
Tugged tight on all my passageways
Suffocating sudsy reef

With cups to lose things in
Cutting knives
And forks that stretch for hours 

Hands bloated and blue
Reaching towards the gunk at the bottom
Coming up empty again and again

October 13, 2014
Selfish

I’m this secret kind of selfish
Songs are about me
Books are about me
The moon is about me
Things that aren’t about me
Bore me
Dogs
Television
Other People’s Lives
I pretend to be interested 
But really I’m just waiting for them to stop
Talking
Barking
Flashing at me 
So I can get back to the homily of myself
The only faith I have

October 10, 2014
Backseat selfie. Because lines, lashes and why the eff not.

Backseat selfie. Because lines, lashes and why the eff not.

October 8, 2014
Sayings

Beautiful
She said
But meant that it’s not
Darling
He said
Hot and still
Will you?
He said
But wanted to not
Yes
She said
Turned slightly away
Say it
She said
But wished that he wouldn’t
Love her
He tried
But couldn’t

October 6, 2014
Flat Line

I walk a flat line
with my shoes and my cup
precariously balancing tea
I walk a flat line
with the hair and the clothes
and the constant pretending of me
The flat line gets flatter
with the want and the loss
and the never-ending shortage of now
The flat line gets fatter 
with the toil and the troubles
ever rending and pushing the plow

Flat line
with no sign of survival
a play without an ending
ever clapping towards revival

October 3, 2014
An ANCIENT saga tells us howIn the beginning the First Cow(For nothing living yet had birthBut Elemental Cow on earth)Began to lick cold stones and mud:Under her warm tongue flesh and bloodBlossomed, a miracle to believe:And so was Adam born and Eve.Here now is chaos once again,Primeval mud, cold stones and rain.Here flesh decays and blood drips red,And the Cow’s dead, the old Cow’s dead.
-Robert Graves, Dead Cow Farm
Nobody here today but Manuel, Nate and AJ. Brought to you by someone who likes their colors swirling close together - whose 6’s dance precariously close to their 9’s.  

An ANCIENT saga tells us how
In the beginning the First Cow
(For nothing living yet had birth
But Elemental Cow on earth)
Began to lick cold stones and mud:
Under her warm tongue flesh and blood
Blossomed, a miracle to believe:
And so was Adam born and Eve.

Here now is chaos once again,
Primeval mud, cold stones and rain.

Here flesh decays and blood drips red,
And the Cow’s dead, the old Cow’s dead.

-Robert Graves, Dead Cow Farm

Nobody here today but Manuel, Nate and AJ. Brought to you by someone who likes their colors swirling close together - whose 6’s dance precariously close to their 9’s.  

October 1, 2014

The FIRST book of poetry from Lora Mathis. Only 100 copies. You want one of these trust me. 

lora-mathis:

lora-mathis:

bigger bolder less pathetic, my first book is available for pre-order here. so is kid is blank, ben levinson’s first book.

Both books are our my first tangible collections of poetry and the first releases by ink/paper press, a publishing company we co-founded. Get them both today ;) 

I’ve got less than 40 left of these! After that I may put out a second edition. Maybe. 

October 1, 2014
Pretend Tea at Chase Bank

I’m at Chase bank, standing in line to deposit money. I’m maybe about to get my period or maybe just feeling particularly emotional, because suddenly I find myself staring past the teller at the latest Chase ad - a little blonde pigtailed girl pouring tea for a man who looks like Joaquin Phoenix. They’re having pretend tea, as the little girl is about eight. She’s wearing a friendship bracelet and Joaquin has on an expensive-looking watch. I don’t have a clue what any of it has to do with Chase, but they look playful, happy. The couch is a bright white, the tea cups blue and pink. 

They look like they need someone else in the picture. Maybe an older version of the pigtailed girl who’s also wearing a friendship bracelet - a gift from the little girl. And as I stare at them and begin to invite myself into the tea party, a woman walks up next to me to make her own deposit. She’s thin and angular and wearing flat shoes and too much black. Too sure of herself, with hunched shoulders which seem to bend away from her certainty. She looks too much like me. Or some future version of me.  

She leaves, but it’s too late and now the tea party has soured. The cups and couch now seem like not-so-subtle enforcers of gender and wealth, the bracelet and watch weak substitutes for actual human ties. But it’s too bad, I think walking away, because for a minute there the tea looked so warming, the smile on Joaquin’s face so sure. 

September 26, 2014
The sea rocks have a green moss.The pine rocks have red berries.I have memories of you.
Speak to me of how you miss me.Tell me the hours go long and slow.
Speak to me of the drag on your heart,The iron drag of the long days.
I know hours empty as a beggar’s tin cup on a rainy day, empty as asoldier’s sleeve with an arm lost.Speak to me…
-Carl Sandburg, Home Thoughts
Carl and today’s mystery letter writer have a point - there’s nothing quite like the feeling of home. And picking up litter’s become a part of my daily routine what with all the cat babysitting I’ve been doing lately. Though I think the letter writer may have been referring to trash. We may never know.

The sea rocks have a green moss.
The pine rocks have red berries.
I have memories of you.

Speak to me of how you miss me.
Tell me the hours go long and slow.

Speak to me of the drag on your heart,
The iron drag of the long days.

I know hours empty as a beggar’s tin cup on a rainy day, empty as a
soldier’s sleeve with an arm lost.

Speak to me…

-Carl Sandburg, Home Thoughts

Carl and today’s mystery letter writer have a point - there’s nothing quite like the feeling of home. And picking up litter’s become a part of my daily routine what with all the cat babysitting I’ve been doing lately. Though I think the letter writer may have been referring to trash. We may never know.

Liked posts on Tumblr: More liked posts »