likes & reblogs are appreciated :)) title of the poem is: What Comes After
AUGUST
So this is love. When it slows the rain touches everyone on their way home. Whatever was promised of pleasure costs the body more than it has. Perhaps they were right putting love into books… to look at the sky without asking a question, to look at the sea and know you won’t drown today. Despite all our work, even the worst of life has a place in memory. And the fixed hours between two and five before evening are the aimless future with someone who cannot stay new. August returns us to a gap in history where our errors find the invention of a kinder regret. Almost possible: to believe these days will change more than us but the past too. Which is blue and without end. A long drive toward a remembered place. A secret left on a beach. Underwater where the voices of summer are tones of speech, requiring less of the mind. The familiar creaks in the old floorboards. Glasses left out in the storm. Our handwritten lists with every illegible worry and more. The person you think of despite their cruelty. The sun and its cruelty. How it’s kept its distance and kept us alive. Not needing to know anything about what we do with the rest of desire.
ALEX DIMITROV
we met when we were almost young 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 deep in the green lilac park 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 you held onto me like i wass a crucifix 🥺🥺🥺🥺 as we went kneeling through the dark 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺
😷😷😷😷
June Gehringer, “EARTH IS AN ANAGRAM FOR HEART, U FUCKING IDIOTS”
[Text ID: “I don’t want to talk about it. / I want to lie in what little grass remains / and try to fit your heart inside of mine.”]
I have to protect myself and my vision of the world. This place is beautiful, I love life even when I have nothing and am going nowhere. Need people around me who stop to smell the roses and point out the deliciousness of the sky. Your dread can’t be infecting me. If the only way to exist with you in this life is to run through it like I’m in a race then I’m sorry but, you go ahead. See you another time
Anne Carson, Plainwater: Essays and Poetry
[text: Love makes you an anthropologist of your own life.]