(via clavicola)
(via waxxwing)
(by king_natasha)
“The other afternoon, when you fell asleep on my shoulder, I drifted off, too. But before I did, it occured to me looking around at all of your things and your work and going through years of work in my mind, that of all your work, you are still your most beautiful. The most beautiful work of all.” — Patti Smith to Robert Mapplethorpe, Letters of Note
A picture in 365 slices. Each slice is one day of the year.
(via littlefists)
We who take the beaten track,
Trying to appease
Hearts near breaking with their lack,
We need elegies.
—Poetry, May 1925
Counte Cullen, “perhaps the most representative voice of the Harlem Renaissance,” was born on May 30, 1903. Charles Molesworth’s And Bid Him Sing: A Biography of Counte Cullen is due in September 2012.
(Source: spaceghostdepressed, via gabbytwelveoclocke)
“Here is my statement of purpose: Yes, you.” — Rebecca Lindenberg, “Love, an Index: W”
“Something in me, under
all those layers of now-being-loved, still felt left.”
— Rebecca Lindenberg, “Love, an Index: S”
(Source: beanfield, via thatkindofwoman)
“[To the hands come
many things.] In time of trouble
a wild exultation.”
— Robert Creeley, from “For W.C.W.” (via the-final-sentence)
“ghost gave her this: a piece of flint: that if
you rubbed the right way,
the lightlessness would come down, give up, lift—”
— Olena Kalytiak Davis, “Sonnet (silenced)” (The Best American Poetry 2011)
“i give you my self-portrait you say: look:
it’s fawn meets wolf. it’s sex meets book.
it’s love, love, it’s all, it’s not too late:
then push and pull took on ‘self loved self-hate’:
dead on. my god. i won. you fucked me straight.”
— Olena Kalytiak Davis, “Sonnet (motion)” (The Best American Poetry 2011)
blua:
Illustration by Sanithna Phansavanh