sagmoonn

[sagmoonn]

I DRAW ASIDE THE CURTAIN. You mock us with the beauty of your world. My heart hates the trees, the wind moving the branches, the dead diamond machinery of the sky. I pace the corridor between my teeth and my bladder, angry, murderous, comforted by the smell of my sweat. I weakened myself in your name. In my own eyes I disgraced myself for trusting you, against all evidence

Leonard Cohen, Book of Mercy

#leonard cohen #poetry #lit

[sagmoonn]

How many losses does it take to stop a heart, to lay waste to the vocabularies of desire? Each one came rushing through the rooms he left. Mouths open. Last words flown up into the trees.

Dorianne Laux, Last Words

#dorianne laux #poetry #lit

[sagmoonn]

I write behind your back. My thoughts about you are not exactly forbidden, but exalted because they are useless, not intended to get you because I have you & you love me. It's more like a playground where I play with my reflection of you

Eileen Myles, from I Must Be Living Twice

#eileen myles #poetry #lit

[sagmoonn]

I saw his back bent over what he was working on, the back of his neck, how he stood in his sneakers, and wanted to eat him. How could I see another person. I mean who he was apart from me

Marie Howe, How the Story Started

#marie howe #poetry #lit

[sagmoonn]

I'm listening. I'm ready to believe. Even lies, I don't care. Say, burning bush. Say, stone. They've stopped singing now and I really should go. So tell me, quickly. It's April. I'm on Spring Street. That's my gray car in the driveway. They're laughing and dancing. Someone's bound to show up soon. I'm waving. Give me a sign if you can see me. I'm the only one here on my knees.

Dorianne Laux, from Smoke

#dorianne laux #poetry #lit

[sagmoonn]

Where are you now? I feel stupid. I'm talking to trees, to leaves swarming on the black air, stars blinking in and out of heart-shaped shadows, to the moon, half-lit and barren, stuck like an ax between the branches. What are you now? Air? Mist? Dust? Light? What? Give me something. I have to know where to send my voice. A direction. An object. My love, it needs a place to rest.

Dorianne Laux, from Smoke

#dorianne laux #poetry #lit

[sagmoonn]

Dangerous spectacle at play inside his skull, Roland Barthes: "I cannot get over having had this good fortune: to meet what matches my desire"

Diane Seuss, from frank: sonnets

#diane seuss #poetry #lit

[sagmoonn]

Les biches, 1968

[sagmoonn]

Jean Cocteau, from Tempest of Stars

#jean cocteau #poetry #lit

[sagmoonn]

I collapse on my bed, a sexual and artistic homicide. Though still breathing, and it is Spring.

Eileen Myles, Exploding the Spring Mystique

#eileen myles #poetry #lit

[sagmoonn]

You defy questions; You defy other godhood. I walk dry on your kingdom's border Exiled to no good. Your shelled bed I remember. Father, this thick air is murderous. I would breathe water.

Sylvia Plath, Full Fathom Five

#sylvia plath #poetry #lit

[sagmoonn]

Worse even than your maddening song, your silence. At the source of your ice-hearted calling drunkenness of the great depths.

Sylvia Plath, Lorelei

#sylvia plath #poetry #lit

[sagmoonn]

Joyce Mansour, from Emerald Wounds

#joyce mansour #poetry #lit

[sagmoonn]

Joyce Mansour, from Emerald Wounds

#joyce mansour #poetry #lit

[sagmoonn]

The story concerns the reason why we love to fall in love. Beauty spins and the mind moves. To catch beauty would be to understand how that impertinent stability in vertigo is possible.

Anne Carson, from Eros the Bittersweet

#anne carson #lit

[sagmoonn]

There is a certain state of grace that is not loving.

Diane Seuss, from frank: sonnets

#diane seuss #poetry #lit

[sagmoonn]

Only wanted love, though what that means I don't know, something about mystery, standing humbly at the gate of someone else's mystery and hoping for the sound

Diane Seuss, from frank: sonnets

#diane seuss #poetry #lit