Interlacing language (at MTA Subway - L Train)
If life gives you Lemons...
I wish…
Sensation
On the blue summer evenings, I shall go down the paths,
Getting pricked by the corn, crushing the short grass:
In a dream I shall feel its coolness on my feet.
I shall let the wind bathe my bare head.
I shall not speak, I shall think about nothing:
But endless love will mount in my soul;
And I shall travel far, very far, like a gipsy,
Through the countryside - as happy as if I were with a woman.
Arthur Rimbaud
March 1870.
“I wonder if I have spent most of my life as myself
or most of my life as a welcome mat.
I wonder who is wiping their feet on my heartbeat.
I wonder how muddy my own boots are.”
- Andrea Gibson
estefaniarivas:
My very own black out poetry. #blackoutpoetry #poem
(Source: pepperssmut)
3:33
One day,
When I wake up at 3am,
Unable to Sleep… (at St. Nicholas Terrace)
““Passion. It lies in all of us. Sleeping, waiting, and though unwanted, unbidden, it will stir. Open it’s jaws, and howl. It speaks to us, guides us. Passion rules us all, and we obey. What other choice do we have?””
(Lista sin sentido)
1. ¿Has bajado ya? Le pregunto. ¿Has bajado ya? Le pregunto ¿Has bajado ya?
2. Y tengo los dedos morados, malditas lancetas. Sois ásperas como espinas pero no os parecéis a las flores.
3. Amor. Te equivocaste en el supermercado y compraste croquetas de pernil. ¿Qué hacemos ahora con esos cuerpecitos machacados? Nos están mirando.
4. Leche de cabra y un poco de lavanda. Equinácea. Espliego. Cromo y un poco de canela. No se van. Nos están mirando.
5. El corrector me advierte en rojo de que no existe la palabra “hiperglucemia”. Y tú qué sabes. Y tú qué sabes.
The Architect
You fell into love like a chasm,
so deeply and madly taken
by the office block in his ribcage.
-
I can barely touch the sky
when I stand on tip toes,
but I can climb any bookshelf you point at
and find the best of you.
