Annierokstar

I Watched a Constellation Commit Suicide

sleepsweet:

I watched a constellation
commit suicide.

The stars whirred like
washing machines
filled with pool balls,
clunking off each other
in the sky, rabid in
some unknown field.

The lines between
each star snapped
like a spider web’s
most ancient strands.

From here on, I turned
away, not wanting to
be forced to bear such
wrong witness to such
a private and

pitch-black

moment. 

I could hear the stars
stop moving. 

The Art of Love

embeeness:

If you’re in love with an artist
and he never paints your image,
and he titles his works
with obscure references
that you don’t understand,
do not assume that he must not love you
because you are not in his artwork.

Know that your touch is in each brushstroke,
your eyes are in each color he lays down,
your kisses are in every line drawn,
your smile is in each shape on his canvas,
your voice is directing his hand
and your love is the inspiration
for each and every breath he takes.

theparisreview:

After the first glass of vodkayou can accept just about anythingof life even your own mysteriousnessyou think it is nice that a boxof matches is purple and brown and is calledLa Petite and comes from Swedenfor they are words that you know and thatis all you know words not their feelingsor what they mean and you write becauseyou know them not because you understand thembecause you don’t you are stupid and lazyand will never be great but you dowhat you know because what else is there?—Frank O’Hara, “As Planned”Photography Credit Jackson Eaton

theparisreview:

After the first glass of vodka
you can accept just about anything
of life even your own mysteriousness
you think it is nice that a box
of matches is purple and brown and is called
La Petite and comes from Sweden
for they are words that you know and that
is all you know words not their feelings
or what they mean and you write because
you know them not because you understand them
because you don’t you are stupid and lazy
and will never be great but you do
what you know because what else is there?

Frank O’Hara, “As Planned”
Photography Credit Jackson Eaton

forgetlings:

For all my life I will keep your bow &
Notepaper cut with scissors. 

Your letter has the scent of 1992 –
What is it? No –
Don’t tell. I remember. 

First I counted:

Forty-seven birds coming home.
One crane.
Your two hands.

The many ways mixed feelings
Spin your compass:

Feel fill late lost
Beautiful gentle soul –
To know you exist.

I feel no certain or special life:

I wish I could share this with you
In kind.
Treelike.

The pain that dies with me is vast &
Equal to my love.

kpfun:

And from this slumber you shall wake, when true love’s kiss, the spell shall break.