Kat Finch

poet ･:*:･ letterpress printer ･:*:･ illustrator

[salttigerpress]

@lyonkid.art

[deleters]

[cactuslands]

beccastadtlander

[glorianas]

the hag in folklore actually is symbolic of men being afraid that when women get older we’ll realize how shit they really are and eat them which is fair and they should be

[salttigerpress]

Hey friends, this weekend #poetsforpuertorico is coming to Newark! Please stop by to catch these amazing poets and to donate if you can. I've made a limited run of Juan Antonio Corretjer's poem, Boricua en la Luna, which will be available during the event with a donation. Shout out to @dimitri__reyes for all their hard work! https://www.instagram.com/p/BoKtVFolH1N/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=jw2p3uhwn623

[salttigerpress]

Got myself into the current issue of Arsenic Lobster! Peep those couplets 👀🌌 https://www.instagram.com/p/Bn4an95nP4v/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=1r8ikj2vec6sa

[salttigerpress]

Excerpt from SEXTS by Charles Theonia. Read it in full HERE. 

[moami]

if you find bones in the forest, sit a bit and listen. they are old and have some good stories to tell. maybe they’ll teach you a spell or two, or explain where the water on our planet came from.

if you find bones by the ocean, run. don’t look back. run, faster, faster. the sea may love you but there are nights where she knows neither mercy nor science, and the bones warn you only once.

[torrythetorry]

boi if you find bones call the police i hate this website so much

[moami]

this is a piece of creative writing, in case you couldn’t tell from the fact that real bones don’t usually go hey lil’ mama lemme whisper bony secrets in your ear or warn you of the incoming tides like a calcified weather frog.

[theglowpt2-deactivated20200101]

every word out of guillermo del toro’s mouth is the most hardcore thing i’ve ever heard and he says it all so casually like he doesn’t even realize how much of a gothic visionary he is 

[theglowpt2-deactivated20200101]

“Since childhood, I’ve been faithful to monsters. I have been saved and absolved by them, because monsters, I believe, are patron saints of our blissful imperfection, and they allow and embody the possibility of failing”

I STILL THINK ABOUT THIS EVERY DAY OF MY LIFE

[thesnicketfile]

“The last strange thing I read was a line by the Slovene poet Tomaz Salamun: “The rise of the zebra hurts the zebra.” It’s a great line. I’m not even sure what he means by it, really. But the line camped out in my head for a while, and then suddenly I was reading a newspaper article about “the rise of democracy”–an ordinary enough phrase–and I thought, The rise of democracy hurts democracy. True or not, it was a strange little idea, and it was Salamun who had screwed in the light bulb. The strange illuminates the ordinary (…)”

— Daniel Handler (from his column What The Swedes Read in Believer Magazine)

[cuttyspot]

[kafk-a]

Aracelis Girmay

[thesoundofmusic1965-deactivated]

Mitski for Pitchfork // Richard Siken for TinHouse

[landprince]

what if writers did streams like artists did

[sodacune]

[the-end-of-art]

In darkness

“There is grace, though, and wonder, on the way. Only they are hard to see, hard to embrace, for those compelled to wander in darkness.”

–Poem by an anonymous inmate at Auschwitz, found on a wall there, from Last Traces: The Lost Art of Auschwitz by Joseph Czarnecki. I found it in Wandering in Darkness: Narrative and the Problem of Suffering by Eleonore Stump.

[coffeeleatherandbrick]

“A husband and wife climbed to the roof of their house, and each at the extremes of the ridge stood facing the other the while that the clouds took to form and reform. The husband said, shall we do backward dives, and into windows floating come kissing in a central room? I am standing on the bottom of an overturned boat, said the wife. The husband said, shall I somersault along the ridge of the roof and up your legs and through your dress out of the neck of your dress to kiss you? I am a roof statue on a temple in an archaeologist’s dream, said the wife. The husband said, let us go down now and do what it is to make another come into the world. Look, said the wife, the eternal clouds.”

— The Tunnel: selected poems - Russell Edson

[abigailzimmer]

I used to think it could be solved this way: like people gathering in the station at midnight for the last bus that will not come, at first just a few, then more and more. That was a chance to be close to one another, to change everything, together to start a new world.

Yehuda Amichai, “The Hour of Grace”

(via

abigailzimmer

)