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Tyndareus Crushed, by Igor Mitoraj (taken August 2005)

READIN

Jeremy's journal

Nonsense is only another language.

Penelope Fitzgerald


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Saturday, July 28th, 2018

🦋 No todo lo que apesta es mierda

No todo lo que apesta es mierda
me advierte
y que no me involucre

posted afternoon of July 28th, 2018: Respond
➳ More posts about Writing Projects

Friday, June 29th, 2018

In the dream, I was mentioning you
on Facebook. I typed the @ symbol
and all your names started popping up
for autocomplete;
names I didn't even know you went by.
Who are you anyways? I typed
but then thought better of asking.

posted evening of June 29th, 2018: Respond
➳ More posts about Projects

Tuesday, January 16th, 2018

🦋 ¡Hagamos idioma!

Cuentista, son tus palabras
El idioma y nada más.
Cuentista, no hay idioma,
Se hace idioma al contar.
Al contar se hace el idioma,
Y al recordar las pasajes contadas
Se oye el relato que nunca
Se ha de volver a narrar.
Cuentista no hay idioma
Sino espuma sobre las aguas.

posted evening of January 16th, 2018: 1 response

Monday, January first, 2018

🦋 Círculos

¡Felicidades al año nuevo, herman@s poetas!

posted evening of January first, 2018: Respond

Friday, October 27th, 2017

🦋 No debe ser marinero

No debe ser marinero
quien quiere dejar rastro.
La estela de la barca
se ensancha y despacio
desaparece. Sin hacer ruido
golpea el remo
otra vez contra el agua.

posted evening of October 27th, 2017: 8 responses

🦋 Pine branches

Pine branches like spokes
on a rimless wheel

twowheels

posted afternoon of October 27th, 2017: Respond
➳ More posts about Pretty Pictures

Tuesday, October 10th, 2017

Deep blues, and reds,
And pastel shades of gray and tan
Are the colours that line Meeker Street

posted afternoon of October 10th, 2017: Respond

Monday, September 25th, 2017

🦋 Flesh and bones

Flesh and bones, I wear you like an overcoat.
Flesh and bones, you carry me around
like a favorite toy.

posted morning of September 25th, 2017: Respond
➳ More posts about Identification

Tuesday, July 25th, 2017

The cool, heavy sun is mute: Apollo's
giddy, radiant youth
now past and gone.

The sky is cloudy. Daisy's
nervous growl
reminds you
you need to be somewhere
in an hour or two,
reminds you
it's Sunday.

posted evening of July 25th, 2017: Respond

Wednesday, July 19th, 2017

Myriad the threads of sound, distinct, which woven together undergird
the forest's deep, majestic Silence-- the wind, the trickling water,
birds... distant traffic... angry fat guy yelling at his girlfriend on the
phone...

posted evening of July 19th, 2017: Respond

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