Feb 19, 2022
#schloss #karlsruhe #badenwürttemberg #germany #february2009 (at Schlossgarten (Karlsruhe)) https://www.instagram.com/p/CaKCZQnoROY/?utm_medium=tumblr
seen from Maldives
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seen from Greece
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seen from United Kingdom
seen from China
#schloss #karlsruhe #badenwürttemberg #germany #february2009 (at Schlossgarten (Karlsruhe)) https://www.instagram.com/p/CaKCZQnoROY/?utm_medium=tumblr
#schlossgarten #karlsruhe #badenwürttemberg #germany #february2009 (at Schlossgarten (Karlsruhe)) https://www.instagram.com/p/CZ_h9HBIlYy/?utm_medium=tumblr
#schlossgarten #karlsruhe #badenwürttemberg #germany #february2009 (at Schlossgarten (Karlsruhe)) https://www.instagram.com/p/CZ6nIgCo5sP/?utm_medium=tumblr
Dinky little Delilah by Louisa Hennessy Via Flickr: Explore Feb 23rd 2009 #184 Day 282 T189 project 365
Ernest Hemmingway
Has looked down consolingly for two years now. He shares his stories But is still definitively aloof.
Biology Lesson
Biomes, currents, doldrums...
I am preoccupied with biology in action.
Yellow
It's a nice color for a jacket,
Don't you think?
Formula Writing
A Poem by Numbers I am not a formula, A set of numbers and letters to be solved. I am a woman. You are a pound of dark chocolate: Sweet but bitter, classic but unique. But if you are chocolate, I must be bulimic. I must rip you, in butterfly form, from my innards… Not the stale, sour citrus on my tongue. Not our locked eyes. Not the tingle of your fingers on my palms. Not the sweet, strong spice filling my nostrils and my lungs. Not the words whispered softly, scratchily, suddenly silently. They are already gone. I must violently taste the very sound of your voice, Smell your soft hair go rancid. Maybe Maddy will catch me and rush me to the E.R. at Riverside Hospital. You see, You have reduced me, in your head and on the surface, to a quadratic. A question complicated only on the surface, but easily reduced to one letter: x. That’s all I am to you,
Isn’t it?
x. Not the layered girl: Often silent (More frequently soft) But occasionally a ball of frenetic energy. This was easy, So she’ll be easy. No. Sorry. She’s fallen out of love. What? I don’t understand. The mechanical cogs of emotion do not exist. Beneath the rainbow glow of a Christmas tree I must grow up. I must harness my panic And withhold the gift. Simple as it seems It requires that I stop a hurtling freight train with my bare feet… And I do. What, I wonder, would she think of her Elle? In a month I will still have no regrets, Thank God. So here we aren’t, You and I. I cannot seem to stop staring at the wearisome spectacle. It’s a repetition of the formula That appeared to solve the girl who wasn’t a formula, Recorded now in a poem just as formulaic as you yourself. Le vent me promène, And I crumble into the consoling arms of a pillow, Destroying my T-shirt as I vomit you.