Where do the words go
when we have said them?
when we have said them?
“
| — | Margaret Atwood, from “The Small Cabin” (via the-final-sentence) |
I stand on the threshold
under the street lamp, one side
of my body covered with flakes,
and think about good and evil,
the point where one is distinct
from the other.
under the street lamp, one side
of my body covered with flakes,
and think about good and evil,
the point where one is distinct
from the other.
“
| — | Sarah Stern, from “The Owl” (via proustitute) |
I wanted
the past to go away, I wanted
to leave it, like another country; I wanted
my life to close, and open
like a hinge, like a wing, like the part of the song
where it falls
down over the rocks: an explosion, a discovery;
I wanted
to hurry into the work of my life; I wanted to know,
whoever I was, I was
alive
for a little while.
the past to go away, I wanted
to leave it, like another country; I wanted
my life to close, and open
like a hinge, like a wing, like the part of the song
where it falls
down over the rocks: an explosion, a discovery;
I wanted
to hurry into the work of my life; I wanted to know,
whoever I was, I was
alive
for a little while.
“
| — | Mary Oliver, from “Dogfish” in Dream Work (via proustitute) |
Still you are here, as silence
gathers like birds in the trees around you.
You will be digging here,
perhaps all night, clearing,
finally, a throat for the mute earth,
for the bones that knock and knock
against your blade.
You are waiting for them to sing.
gathers like birds in the trees around you.
You will be digging here,
perhaps all night, clearing,
finally, a throat for the mute earth,
for the bones that knock and knock
against your blade.
You are waiting for them to sing.
“
| — | Leon Weinmann, from “Broken Ground” (via awritersruminations) |
They say when you are missing someone that they are probably feeling the same, but I don’t think it’s possible for you to miss me as much as I’m missing you right now.
“
| — | Edna St. Vincent Millay (via proustitute) |
Underneath my outside face
There’s a face that none can see.
A little less smiley,
A little less sure,
But a whole lot more like me.
There’s a face that none can see.
A little less smiley,
A little less sure,
But a whole lot more like me.
“
| — | Shel Silverstein, “Underface” (From Every Thing On It) |
Poetry is what you find
in the dirt in the corner,
overhear on the bus, God
in the details, the only way
to get from here to there.
in the dirt in the corner,
overhear on the bus, God
in the details, the only way
to get from here to there.
“
| — | Elizabeth Alexander, from “Ars Poetica #100: I Believe” (via proustitute) |
People say I make strange choices, but they’re not strange for me. My sickness is that I’m fascinated by human behavior, by what’s underneath the surface, by the worlds inside people.
“
| — | Johnny Depp (via moonbounce) |
