poison in the form of skin

poison in the form of skin

oh sweet pea my lips
are fat with your poison
fat with your skin
pressed     the pressing
of skin is a precious
thing and so are your
soiled words hushed
against my neck   against
my neck   I use my breasts
to brace   for efficiency
they hold more than milk
you leak nightshade
all over my sheets   all
over my skin   the muscle
of your hands    the bend

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smoke

smoke http://wp.me/s2Hlsh-smoke

my mouth smolders
fat slow pillows
of milky smoke
rising from my
swollen gums—
the stretch
of jaundice
over my chicklet
teeth, the wait
of it all—
char is coming
and yet
but wait
the romantic sin
stick pushed taught
with tea leaves
(yes tea leaves)
my mouth is full
of awake and anger—
the angst of chapped
lips resenting,
purged of…

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smoothes

smoothes http://wp.me/s2Hlsh-smoothes

most the time I can’t sleep
and I stare at ceilings
and analyze their anatomies
the anatomies of ceilings
their shade of beige
their dimples
their pockets of vents
and the hum
of their emittance
nothing about love
can fix that
nothing about love
can really fix
anything
but does it soothe?
oh the calm
that smoothes
over my skin
while I sleep

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a lie

how catholic are you? how un
decided am I? am I?
does the holy ghost live in
basements? does.. is it a
he  a she  an it? does it
rattle the panels to startle?
does it matter what I think?
cause I make blasphemy an art
of syntax, I make that shit
inventive and unless
confined by the mandates
of corporate, I don’t even
mind    is that a lie?

I’m a bit behind on…

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capacity

capacity http://wp.me/s2Hlsh-capacity

mirrors are so overrated               like doors
shutting               what if doors shutting
sounded like the shuddering of earthquakes?
     the shake and shiver of this earth
this earth is underrated               all that
space    space is rated for weight
capacity        capacity for what
mirrors vomit back to us     to me
vertigo is real and serving dessert
   in the painted back of the…

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posted 2 weeks ago with 36,614 notes - via source

catsbeaversandducks:

Beautiful post written by Angie Holland Bailey:

Jack Kerouac is one of my all-time favorite writers and was a major cat lover. I was recently reading one of his books, Big Sur, and the paragraph describing his learning about his beloved cat Tyke’s death moved me to tears. I know I usually write humor on this blog, but I want to share this little snippet of Jack with you today. I copied the text exactly as it appears in the book — Jack wasn’t known for a grammatically proper writing style, but I think it’s just perfect.

"The next sign is in Frisco itself where after a night of perfect sleep in an old skid row hotel room I go to see Monsanto at his City Lights bookstore and he’s smiling and glad to see me, says ‘We were coming out to see you next weekend you should have waited,’ but there something else in his expression — When we’re alone he says, ‘Your mother wrote and said your cat is dead.’ 

Ordinarily the death of a cat means little to most men, a lot to fewer men, but to me, and that cat, it was exactly and no lie and sincerely like the death of my little brother — I loved Tyke with all my heart, he was my baby who as a kitten just slept in the palm of my hand and with his little head hanging down, or just purring for hours, just as long as I held him that way, walking or sitting — He was like a floppy fur wrap around my wrist, I just twist him around my wrist or drape him and he just purred and purred and even when he got big I still held him that way, I could even hold that big cat in both hands with my arms outstretched right over my head and he’d just purr, he had complete confidence in me — and when I’d left New York to come to my retreat in the woods I’d carefully kissed him and instructed him to wait for me ‘Attends pour mue kitigingoo’ — But my mother said in the letter he had died the NIGHT AFTER I LEFT.”

Gets me every time…

Via Catladyland

posted 2 weeks ago with 89 notes - via
❝I am terrified by this dark thing that sleeps in me; all day I feel its soft, feathery turnings, its malignity.❞ — Sylvia Plath (The Collected Poems)
posted 2 weeks ago with 5,855 notes - via source

pyrrhic-victoria:

A rare mix of minerals.

Morganite, Tourmaline, Cleavelandite and Lepiodite 

posted 2 weeks ago with 31,477 notes - via source

inhuemane:

crowbones:

I woke up in the morning and I didn’t want anything, didn’t do anything, couldn’t do it anyway, just lay there listening to the blood rush
through me and it never made any sense, anything.

I like this a lot a lot.

posted 3 weeks ago with 809 notes - via source
mb