January 2012
35 posts
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On Being In Bed With A Brand New Lover
I’ve abandoned vanity, since I became a body
of threads, never quite made, since you rippled
the apparent skin of me.
I’m all texture. Silk rosette, billowing coral,
tentative as a just baked cake. Sensations
slide over my knitted blood.
My mouth is a glass paperweight
to keep our tastes in, like maraschino
cherries and water from a zinc cup.
This is not about a future with a...
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“It was a great summer. The folk-singer look was in, the young girls with the...”
– Popism: The Warhol ’60s.
Alessandra Rizzotti: I'd Like To Read All Day →
rizzottipotty:
My grandmother wrote short stories.
She read them into a tape recorder,
sending me the tapes,
wrapped up,
like a fragile parcel.
One was a story about Strawberry Shortcake,
one was a story about her garden,
one was a story about learning to love
what was incomplete.
My grandmother’s…
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Sunday Romance
Nothing is provisional, when the summoned thought
of you inspires certain ever-afters. I should cool down
on the step outside. For there’s much to be learned
from the precocious nature of baking, its generous swell
dependent on correct measures of heat, ounces and sifts.
I poise at the oven door. Perhaps we’re just correct.
Or incorrectly stirred to sublime effect. Whatever;
I’m stupid with...
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Preface 13 (From Bad Bad by Chelsey Minnis)
When I write a poem it’s like looking through a knothole into a velvet fuckpad…
And it is like buttery sweetbreads spilled down the front of your dress…
It is like a gun held to the head of a poodle…
If I want to write any poems I will write them!
A poem that doesn’t have any intellectual filler in it…
Like two blondes fighting on a roof…
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“what have you done for me lately?”
– Janet Jackson
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Reminder about the songs currently in the charts
wherewolves:
They mean how beautiful and near she is. Though now each asks no more than to rest an elbow on your consciousness as a tired lane swimmer pauses for breath at the end of the pool, then pushes away again, when they do it won’t be forever; they will catch you in some bar or bedroom and mean how beautiful and near she is.
- - Tim Cockburn
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Quote from an unpublished sequence by Roddy...
I love you as if still there were a teasing plenty, when, when teasing plenty is gone and that, that, beyond my stash of chance.
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Old, aggressively flirtatious poem published in...
Warning
I stole your magenta fedora
while you span to The Snake.
Legging it behind the booth
I slipped
My phone number is
under a grosgrain ribbon
that tightened pheasant
feather to felt.
I want you minted
the same year I was born,
us held in velvet clinch.
I swear if you don’t call
I’ll string your milk teeth
together, bite them deep
into the flesh of my...
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Indie Rock and Roll Poster Redux →
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Poem by Camellia Stafford
Script
I’ve thought of us like famous film stars.
I’ve been breathless at times, less so now,
to get from one scene to the other, to catch us all
in the swoop of a shadow thrown at midnight.
I’ve loved afternoons talking in lent pyjamas.
I’ve listened to heartbroken voices, my own,
awaited the lifting of lashes when we swallow
the pavement whole with our...
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Poem I wrote for my sister
With You
The fish gurgle in their outer space light –
I ask “pass me the blanket” and the wineglass
residues are violet and look back at us, like pupils.
To-do lists cascade from the fridge.
Your to-do lists are often niche catalogue orders.
We both eat showy pralines. Alternately, you eat
the lychees.
When you’re...
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“He realized at last that the arguments of pessimism were powerless to comfort...”
– Joris-Karl Huysmans
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vintage 1930's Daffodil embroidered by... →
Future nightgown.
