April 2011
1 post
March 2011
8 posts
February 2011
20 posts
“When we were children, you didn’t care for words, you only filled pages with wide vertical lines. We lived in the city and I thought you drew lampposts, telephone lines, the long, rusty rods scattered in construction sites. Your voice insisting, no,
no these are trees.
I fall into a puddle on my way to catch a bus, and unlike a dog, I can’t sit around and lick my wounds, I have to walk...
But listen only to the timbre of my voice, not to what I am saying.
They are different.
(Spaces, Arkaye Kierulf)
I'm not a love poet.
“But if I was to wake up tomorrow morning and decide that I really wanted to write about love I swear that my first poem… it would be about you.
About how I loved you the same way that I learned how to ride a bike: Scared… but reckless with no training wheels or elbow pads so my scars can tell the story of how I fell for you.”
(Rudy Francisco)
January 2011
9 posts
Nevertheless,
today I’m going to love your bones,
beginning, of course,
with your flesh.
(R. Pfingston)
December 2010
3 posts
October 2010
2 posts
