I’m undressing you again, under the edicts of porn. The conspiracy began a long time ago, reducing us to bare essentials, the way twilights simplify the sun to candlelight weeping for more, o…
hello vonnie

Love Begins

ellievsbear
Sweet Seals For You, Always

❣ Chile in a Photography ❣
The Stonewall Inn
Doug Jones
Game of Thrones Daily

blake kathryn
2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year
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taylor price
YOU ARE THE REASON
Not today Justin
EXPECTATIONS
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open

#extradirty

shark vs the universe
NASA

roma★
seen from Kenya
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seen from Türkiye

seen from United States

seen from Malaysia

seen from Malaysia

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@michaelcaylobaradi-blog
I’m undressing you again, under the edicts of porn. The conspiracy began a long time ago, reducing us to bare essentials, the way twilights simplify the sun to candlelight weeping for more, o…
I’m partial to the beauty of the city, each time you muscle me with tales mustering us into a glow faint as distant stars. We restore tears in this sanctum, and use the body to weep, and swea…
Prelude to a Quieter Epilogue
Bombus Press (Issue 2)
https://bombus-press.squarespace.com/michael-caylo-baradi
The Galway Review
Thanks to the editors at The Galway Review for including 5 of my poems, in the journal’s online version: The publication is administered by folks who are somehow associated with the National University of Ireland, Galway. I am honored.
https://thegalwayreview.com/2017/02/21/michael-caylo-baradi-five-poems/
used to be 3am cheeseburgers, shipwrecked in Diet Coke and swirls of attitude about the stripper at Club Predicament next door. We were always blown away by patterns that owned his thighs, tattoos …
A piece I wrote a few years ago.
Nothing was ever more astute than William Carlos Williams’s “A poem is a machine made of words.” (If it sounds cold or technocratic, think of the machine as a music box or a bicycle.) Schuyler’s little machine is more intricate than it looks. When the poet is Schuyler, and when we’re in “The Payne Whitney Poems,” questions like “Is this the moment?” and “Need I persist?” may be all playful footwork – or they may be The Big Question, and fraught. The comforts of the changed sheets are sadly ironic, but also real. He wins the last lines with the ones that precede. He can still make a poem – presto, just like that. In pale hues, the poem looks like a small triumph. But it’s a large one. And Schuyler gave it to us.
—Stephen Emerson
Read “Linen,” by Pulitzer Prize-winning poet James Schuyler, selected by Stephen Emerson.
Cressida Leyshon, deputy fiction editor at The New Yorker, reads an excerpt from “The Clockwork Condition,” an essay written by Anthony Burgess in 1973 about his story, which became the iconic movie. The essay appears in this week’s Science Fiction issue.
is a trail of ants, another exodus into unchartered territory, to celebrate, once again, the body as perennial site of struggle. They bury their mandibles into lacerations, as though studying the d…
My poem “2am” has gone live at Eunoia Review. Thanks to Ian Chung.
#2am #eunoia #michaelcaylobaradi
Eunoia Review
Ian Chung, the editor of Eunoia Review, accepted two of my poems today: “2am” and “Dissolution.” The poems will be published on mid-August. This is the second time have I titled a poem with the word ‘dissolution,’ although the difference this time is that it’s in singular form.
#eunoiareview #michaelcaylo-baradi #ianchung
Otoliths 42
A notification of acceptance arrived on my email last week. An editor accepted two of my poems, for the 42nd issue of Otoliths. Thanks so much to Mark Young in Australia.
Wish
Talk soft to me, talk gently as the night shuffles its papers in high offices and hilltops.
Talk low like cattle, breathe hay-scented words and I will show you the book kept inside my coat,
already learnt by heart by the nightjars that churr to each other before daylight setting the darkness home.
Helen Ivory
(The current heat wave in Los Angeles, CA made me think of the poem I wrote for Ink, Sweat & Tears more than two years ago.)
Cruising Country
The heat wave settles on the dashboard. We’re cruising it below the eighties. Beside us are fields of green, vast as boredom uninterrupted. Music from the radio takes the AC to another level of cool. It’s like 7pm dinner without frills; the silence belongs to the food we’re taking apart. Later, country music gives it a different spin, as we imagine highways accelerating us out of these routines.
Link to where it appeared: http://bit.ly/292U9Tz
My review at NewPages.com of the journal Passages North (Issue 35) came out today.
Resuscitation
We free expectations on the edge of roads, encrusted with dusts mute as distance expanding on rear-view mirrors. We're now cruising altitudes orbiting around your neck, plunging down curves animal as fields secured by instincts for blood. We levitate in premonitions of hunger, fortitude for new beginnings banging in labyrinths of spit.