anecdotal evidence / about the human heart

[firstfullmoon]

Gabrielle Calvocoressi, “No Poems Today,” in The New Economy

[firstfullmoon]

Maggie Smith, “Wild”

[antigonickpdf]

our longing for inconvenience by hanif abdurraqib (id in alt)

[havingapoemwithyou]

On Valentine’s Day by Rafael Campo

[wovi]

[havingapoemwithyou]

Knowledge by Kim Addonizio

[havingapoemwithyou]

Scientific method by James Tadd Adcox

[savoureuxx]

"The Resemblance Between Your Life and a Dog" by Robert Bly

[birdandvine]

Good Morning, I Am Not Going to Commit Suicide Today, by Kimmy Walters

[havingapoemwithyou]

Telemachus’ Detachment by Louise Glück

[havingapoemwithyou]

Earl by Louis Jenkins

[feral-ballad]

Joy Sullivan, from Instructions for Traveling West: Poems; “Howl”

[boykeats]

[ID: poem text reading,

"I am finally a woman willing to feed herself—light, bread, joy. Sometimes, you don't know that you're starving until you've had a proper meal. That's when your heart really begins to howl—when it learns what it's been missing."

/end ID.]

[havingapoemwithyou]

the sum of the terms by Meghan Privitello

[weltenwellen]

Maggie Smith, “Small Blue Town”, Goldenrod

[havingapoemwithyou]

the amnesty by Caroline Bird

[firstfullmoon]

Oliver Baez Bendorf, “Everything All at Once”

[nebulations]

[ID copied from alt:

Poem of the Week Everything All at Once Oliver Baez Bendorf right now, someone is having sex and someone is dying and someone is trying to find a lid so they can, before bed, put away the soup and someone is dreaming of that made meadow and someone is gazing through a hospital window to a faraway peak and someone can’t decide what to watch so they remain on the menu screen for company and someone wants to call but

can’t and someone wants to answer but won’t and someone is studying to become a moth scientist and someone is dizzy and doesn’t know why and someone is, after work, practicing the vocal techniques of opera and someone receives a phone call saying listen it’s my neighbor I told you about the singing one can you hear it and someone is clutching the heavy still warm hand of a lover and someone is digging a hole and someone is waxing their back and someone is remembering a poem permitting bits and pieces to return and someone would do almost anything to forget. End ID]

[weltenwellen]

Joy Sullivan, from "Late Bloomer", Instructions for Traveling West