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Three Goblin Art
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
Sweet Seals For You, Always

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One Nice Bug Per Day
will byers stan first human second
Show & Tell

oozey mess
DEAR READER
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"

⁂
Claire Keane
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
ojovivo

roma★
Not today Justin

Janaina Medeiros
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izzy's playlists!
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@melipnooss
Μικρόσωμο νεαρό ζευγάρι.
Εκπατρισμένη των ματιών η καταγωγή.
Κάπου στην επιβίωση θα δουλεύουν
-φημίζεται για την αξιοσύνη της
η υποταγή.
Με άδεια καλοκαιρινή.
Ελεύθερα τώρα τα χέρια νοικοκυρεύουν
τα παραμελημένα χάδια τους.
Θαυμάζω τι επιδέξια ξαπλώνουν τα δάχτυλα
στου παιχνιδιού τους το κρεβάτι
σφιχτά δεμένα
σα να πλέκουν γελαστά καλαθάκια
με πόθου συστροφή τα γεμίζουν
τα ξηλώνουν κι απ' την αρχή τα πλέκουν
σα να κουράστηκε τώρα ο νέος
ίσως απ' την πολλή ελευθερία της πλοκής
λίκνιζε χαρούμενα και το πλοίο
γέρνει κι αποκοιμιέται
πάνω στο αριστερό του σκουλαρίκι
ξύπνια εκείνη ακόμα
κοιτάζει για λίγο το κοιμισμένο χέρι του
κι αργά προσεκτικά μην το ξυπνήσει
στον ώμο της το φέρνει
κι επάνω του γέρνοντας
γλυκά κι αυτή αποκοιμιέται.
Τι εύχρηστο μαξιλάρι η αγάπη
Κατάλληλο
για κάθε ταξίδι του πόνου στο σώμα
για κάθε ηλικίας όνειρα
για κάθε είδους νύστα
απαραίτητο
για το σπίτι
για το στοχασμό
για το λεωφορείο
για το πλοίο και για ό,τι
μας πνίγει.
Κική Δημουλά, από την ποιητική συλλογή «Μεταφερθήκαμε παραπλεύρως» (2007).
Πρόσεχε!
Όταν στρώνεις το τραπέζι,πριν καθήσεις, να ελέγχεις σχολαστικά την αντικρινή σου καρέκλα! Αν είναι γερή, μήπως τρίζει, μήπως χαλάρωσαν οι εγκοπές, μήπως φαγώθηκαν οι αρμοί, αν υποσκάπτει τον σκελετό σκουλίκι. Γιατί εκείνος που δεν κάθεται, γίνεται κάθε μέρα όλο και πιο βαρύς...
Κική Δημουλά- Πρόσεχε
(από τη συλλογή "Μεταφερθήκαμε παραπλεύρως", 2007)
🖤👆🏼
I went through
I walk and it gets dark.
I make up my mind and it gets dark.
No, I am not sad.
I've been curious and studious.
I know of everything. A bit of everything.
The names of flowers when they wither,
when words turn green and when we feel cold.
How easily the feelings' lock turns
with any of oblivion's keys.
No I am not sad.
I went through days with rain
I tensed up behind this
watery barbwire
patiently and unnoticed,
just like the trees' pain
when their last leaf departs
and just like the fear of the braves.
No I am not sad.
I went through gardens, I stood next to fountains
and I saw plenty of statuettes laughing
at unseen causes of joy.
And little amoretti, braggarts.
Their fully stretched bows
became a crescent to my nights and I daydreamt.
I saw many and lovely dreams
and I saw me forget myself 1.
No, I am not sad.
I walked a lot through feelings,
both my own and others'
and there was always space left between them
for wide time to pass through.
I went through post offices and went through them again.
I wrote letters and wrote again
and prayed to the god of answer tirelessly.
I received short cards:
a hearty farewell from Patras
and some greetings
from the leaning Tower of Pisa.
No, I am not sad that the day is leaning.
I've talked a lot. To humans,
to lampposts, to pictures.
And a lot to chains.
I learned to read hands,
and to lose hands.
No, I am not sad.
I travelled, indeed.
I went through here, I went through there...
Everywhere, the world, ready to age.
I lost from here, and I lost from there.
I both lost through my caution
and through my carelessness.
I went to the sea too.
I was owed a width. Consider it taken.
I was afraid of loneliness
and I made up people.
I saw them falling
by the hand of a quiet dust particle,
who ran through a sunray
and others from the sound of a minimal bell.
And I sounded myself through bell ringings
of an orthodox desolation.
No I am not sad.
I caught fire and got smoldered.
And I never missed the moons' experience.
Their waning over seas and over eyes,
dark it has sharpened me.
No I am not sad.
As much as I could, I resisted this river
when it wad a lot of water, for it not to wash me away,
and as much as it was possible I made up water,
in dry riverbeds
and drifted away.
No I am not sad.
It's getting dark at the right time.
(The little of the world, 1971, Kiki Dimoula)
χαϊκού
πολλή η βροχή
και σκεπάσματα άδεια–
στράφι το νερό
heart to heart
ours were never aligned
i fitted
our whole common life
at this very point
the base of your neck
a universe of its own
I built it
I want to bridge this filthy yearning.
— Rosie Stockton, from "DISPERSAL," Fuel
embrace–home
whats it like to hold the hand of someone you love
like sunshine hitting your face
embracing every thought
like a dwelling, a shelter, a home