#thomas dooley

[spunkeater]

<3 <3 <3

[whisperthatruns]

Abraham and Isaac

You tried to take my red metals with your wolf jaw tongs to forge a body never to be flame-licked again but I reached out and held you by the throat, pressed my ear to your chest that meadow startled with magpies. You are not the first man who tried to make my body a smoke. But here I am to silver the air and surround you like a sky vast enough to take your embers into itself; I’ve been made to carry your fires.

Thomas Dooley (Academy of American Poets, 2017)

[typewriter-worries]

Abraham and Isaac, Thomas Dooley

transcript in ALT

[goreprofonde]

“is a creature not to be believed here in the kitchen, a sudden

dark umbra. After our brooms

turn to their bristles and we swipe the ceiling,

my father’s old skin breaks when we softly collide.

Thomas, do you see this blood? I almost reach

to touch the slick break, corona of bruise—

through his body I enter the body waiting for me—

his arms dark as the wings

that flail and fall from the light.”

- Thomas Dooley, The Bat.

[jerseydeanne]

It’s Joseph Magi, this is funny that he got arrested for running around naked and high. 

https://www.dailymail.co.uk/video/news/video-2017698/Video-Nephew-Meghan-Markle-seen-screaming-naked-arrest.html

LMAO 

[2ndhex]

Thomas Dooley has one of the finest fiery hearts ever and I just wanna watch it burn inside his chest for all eternity, this is how holy smokes get made

[lifeinpoetry]

something scorched the lifting steam a hymn we would step into and become

part of its plainsong rise up it sang you don’t have to walk through this world

on your knees as the words stood up in me which is why I’ve come to tell you

where I have been and what I have seen so you could look on me and not be afraid

— Thomas Dooley, from “Pentecost,” published in Hyperallergic

[allyourprettywords]

“I Could Let You Go,” Thomas Dooley

as if opening a crepe sail on a raft of linden downriver with no glacial cut swerve down soft like bourbon if I could ask the waters then to chop to shake an apology when you cry I feel a wet bank in me ring dry here I’ll wrap you in the piano shawl from the upright to your fists a spray of dandelion and comb my last compassion to grasp. Goodbye, friend. Willows dip to your lips dew from their leafed digits feast now on the cold blue soup of sky the iron from bankwater gilts your blood I’ll break a bottle on your gunwale and read broken poems from the shore as the dark river curls back white from the cheap timber as if letting what’s made to drift drift.