Listen, whatever it is you try
to do with your life, nothing will ever dazzle you
like the dreams of your body,

its spirit
longing to fly while the dead-weight bones

toss their dark mane and hurry
back into the fields of glittering fire

where everything,
even the great whale,
throbs with song.

— Mary Oliver, from ‘Humpbacks’, in American Primitive
(via wildlyconstant)

(via saturnrising)

poboh:

Dům pod stromy / House under trees, Vojtěch Preissig. Czech (1873 - 1944)

poboh:

Dům pod stromy / House under trees, Vojtěch Preissig. Czech (1873 - 1944)

(via saturnrising)

“Between my sleeping and dreaming,
Between me and the one in me
Who I suppose I am,
A river flows without end.”
— Fernando Pessoa, “30 August 1933,” A Little Larger Than the Entire Universe (via heteroglossia)

(via saturnrising)

“Beauty is nothing but the beginning of terror, which we can still barely endure”
— Rilke (‘Die Firste Elegie’)

oh no

oh my Lord I am in love

love note back

be very good. be very good to me. you small witch woman be good

to me only witch with me you only are safe me i sacrifice for the witch 

berfrois:

by Sharanya Manivannan


Filter coffee under a flowering tree

on the street on which he still lives,


in a blue art deco house in which

there must exist a scintilla of me


as something other than only

the great loss of his life.


The summer spreads her fingers

beyond the octave of…

You Will Hear Thunder

saturnrising:

You will hear thunder and remember me,
And think: she wanted storms. The rim
Of the sky will be the colour of hard crimson,
And your heart, as it was then, will be on fire.

That day in Moscow, it will all come true,
when, for the last time, I take my leave,
And hasten to the heights that I have longed for,
Leaving my shadow still to be with you.

Anna Akhmatova (via art-and-fury)

I love the old man you will become

 I love his fascist triangular beard

and his sticky gut loose over the edge of his turned down waistband

I love his walking stick and his spitting angry potential - yes

even now.

I love that he comes home to me and remains angry, hysterically conservative, American flag bedecked until it is time that he is tired,

and he relaxes his muscles, breathes out long like it is his last and all this

in my presence

I love his flaccid penis at the doctor’s office, helpless and apologetic between his legs

just another man just like everyone in the world for that commonness too I love you