- Sierra DeMulder, from “Your Love Finds Its Way Back” (via weissewiese)
“I have sculpted your body from the dust on the doorknob.
I hoarded your name in my mouth for months.
I’ve been saving so many words for you.
My throat is a beehive pitched into the river. Look!
Look how long my love can hold its breath.”
I hoarded your name in my mouth for months.
I’ve been saving so many words for you.
My throat is a beehive pitched into the river. Look!
Look how long my love can hold its breath.”
- Sierra DeMulder, from “Your Love Finds Its Way Back” (via weissewiese)
“It’s because the earth continues to wobble on its axis that we continue to stumble down the streets of the heart. It’s because of the loneliness of the first cell trying to swim through its primordial pool that we are filled with a kind of galactic fear. For example: one moment a rocket falls capriciously into a square. Another moment, a rogue wave turns over the fishing boat whose crew leaves their memories floating like an oil slick that never reaches shore.
In this way we understand our dying loves scratching at the door.
In this way, each love creates its own theory of pain. Each love gnaws the derelict hours to the bone. But because there are so many blank spaces in history we still have time to write our own story. Wittgenstein said our words have replaced our emotions. He never understood how we have to cleanse ourselves of these invisible parasites of doubt and fear. We might as well worry about the signals from dead worlds wandering around the universe forever. Think instead of how the trees prop up the sky. How the rain falls into the open eyes of the pond bringing a vision no one expected. Here’s mine: this bee hovering over the pencil seems to bring a message from the deepest flowers you inhabit. Because I don’t know where all this love has come from, because the clouds are covered with our footsteps that know no time, I am no longer surprised when each day comes from a new place, because in this way, I can imagine these words getting lost in your lungs, my fingers curling inside you as if I could gather you inside my own heart, or tracing the slope of your hip
towards a whole other world. Don’t worry. Like us the planet wobbles because of the shifting hot and cold zones, high and low pressures, the pull of tides. The stars that are these words are always closer than we think despite the theories of astronomers. In this way, I will always be there, a rain falling into the sea, the abandoned light opening your eyes despite the curtains of reason, the life you give each time
you turn to me, because the stumbling breaths we borrow from each other are all we have to keep each other alive.”
In this way we understand our dying loves scratching at the door.
In this way, each love creates its own theory of pain. Each love gnaws the derelict hours to the bone. But because there are so many blank spaces in history we still have time to write our own story. Wittgenstein said our words have replaced our emotions. He never understood how we have to cleanse ourselves of these invisible parasites of doubt and fear. We might as well worry about the signals from dead worlds wandering around the universe forever. Think instead of how the trees prop up the sky. How the rain falls into the open eyes of the pond bringing a vision no one expected. Here’s mine: this bee hovering over the pencil seems to bring a message from the deepest flowers you inhabit. Because I don’t know where all this love has come from, because the clouds are covered with our footsteps that know no time, I am no longer surprised when each day comes from a new place, because in this way, I can imagine these words getting lost in your lungs, my fingers curling inside you as if I could gather you inside my own heart, or tracing the slope of your hip
towards a whole other world. Don’t worry. Like us the planet wobbles because of the shifting hot and cold zones, high and low pressures, the pull of tides. The stars that are these words are always closer than we think despite the theories of astronomers. In this way, I will always be there, a rain falling into the sea, the abandoned light opening your eyes despite the curtains of reason, the life you give each time
you turn to me, because the stumbling breaths we borrow from each other are all we have to keep each other alive.”
- “Cause and Effect,” Richard Jackson (via the-rx)
Rasikapriya Series: Krishna Reclining on a Terrace
(source: sothebys.com)
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