bad ending
KIROKAZE
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her

if i look back, i am lost
ojovivo
AnasAbdin

Andulka

tannertan36
No title available
One Nice Bug Per Day
I'd rather be in outer space đž
art blog(derogatory)

Janaina Medeiros
Sweet Seals For You, Always
trying on a metaphor

shark vs the universe
No title available

ç„æ„ / Permanent Vacation
todays bird
almost home
occasionally subtle

seen from Russia

seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from United States

seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from T1

seen from Russia

seen from United Kingdom

seen from United Kingdom
seen from Russia

seen from United States

seen from Malaysia
@poemsfromafar
bad ending
and perhaps i always will
dissertation runoff, from the belly of the whale
just to see if youâre still there
so show me a mistake
i can knit over,
and iâll show you a lesson you can learn,
fast. here,
give me your numbed hands,
and i promise iâll take them gently
for once. here,
the circle of my arms.
.
do you recognize me now, lover?
lifelong learning, lifelong suffering!
one more song
i listen for the grace youâve promised me,
but itâs hard to hear anything
over the patter of rain.
tonight, it streams over us. by morning,
these skylights will be washed clean.
still, i like to imagine what i might hear.
iâd like to think it might sound
like forgiveness. but either way,
i know it will sound
like goodbye.
.
strange parameters
sixty years iâd throw my whole life away,
miserable and broken.
wildflower loves, wildflower encounters.
fuck them all. i already know how itâll go
when everything gets washed
out to the ocean. i know
what will happen if i need your words,
need your time, need
your blood, need your
love.
but i donât really know what iâll do after. do
you?
i donât want bukowskiâs hummingbirds
either. i want everyday permission to
love and
to stay and to be
who we want.
.
keep an eye on passing reflections.
because as far back
as i can remember,
despite everythingâ
nearly every time
we still recognize her easily,
and immediately. and almost
always, to love her again
is just as easy as knowing her.
sometimes itâs even easier than that.
like breathing. or leaning in. or falling
back down a hill.
.
definitions of contentment, from a conversation with a friend
excerpt from one of my favorite papers on senecan tragedy, arranged into verse
from the last page of William M. Calderâs âSeneca: Tragedian of Imperial Romeâ in The Classical Journal 72 no. 1 (1976): 1-11, at 11 (modifications mine).
if he talks to you, you
mustnât listen.
flick the pedestrian off
your heart sleevesâ
rid him of the curse.
and if he comes crawling
back, luring you into that choking,
honey-coated pit again, you
must remember:
the story has been written
in crimson and bone and
other whole-grain loves that
escape us both.
i know, i know.
youâre still searching for her.
iâve heard her tap-dancing
between these cowardly euphemisms
and friction-worn polyester seats.
you wonât find her here.
but you already know that,
donât you?
euripides and narratology 101
the limit and boundary between
what we can and cannot assume about
the playwrightâs intentionsâ
lies at the edge of
intended effect on audience.
remember that all we have is his
presentation of people, stimuli, and
the reactions between the twoâ
his crafted world, by which
he is trying to talk
to you.
dangerous to forget youâre
implicated. dangerous to forget that
in some way, you have also
bled, slightly, into this shared
concept of a person.
if heâs talking to you, then you
have to be listening.
there is no story without your pointâ
and my counterpoint. we are now in this theatre
together. and we are here because
we have both made some
dangerous assumptions.
what is the difference, between
questioning the nature of a reality, and
and questioning that realityâs maker? or
is there a difference between loving
the image youâve formed of a person, and loving
the person who formed for youâ
the basis of that image?
well, obviously.
but this conjured character, in some ways,
lives his own little private reality
in your head now. and whatâs
he going to do now? what
might he say next? surely,
you can guess. because
you think you know them. maybe
even better than the author.
easy to get mixed up sometimes. perfectly
understandable. one pours so much
of oneself, into these things. andâ
if this person, this fabricated person,
were somehow to disappoint you,
to turn out not quite
exactly as you wanted, to not quite
be anywhere even near
about to say something,
or anything at all, that
you want to hearâ
well thatâs pretty much to be expected,
isnât it? itâs really just
one of those things. and
when the bitter edge of disappointment
still draws blood from the
both of us, whose fault
will it be thenâ
yours, or
mine?
blorbos from greek tragedy 2.0
so do u guys think they ever explored each others bodies or