Nonesuch Submissions.... I Think

Love Sonnet #3

...shouldst thou hurl all thine insults at the moon/

and curse the fetid star at which you swoon... -Anonymous

I shall not curse the star on which the sky

Leans resolutely: no, nor shall I bow

To any other star of blue or white

With love-penned constellations on its brow.

Celestial point, you, Love of stone and glass

To which I, planets, stars revolve in spires;

Light without which the sky unpins; a Mass

In which the priest is burned with holy fire.

I, You cannot forever intercept

Each bolt from an ungracious silver sky:

I know. We order our small silhouettes

In tandem, Love in spite of Stain and Sight.

Press palm to palm, and I will hold you till

The lights extinguish from your own black hill.

Sonnet #5

It's a kind of marriage. It's a kind of war where I plant bombs inside of myself. -Anne Sexton, The Addict

Green suckling power of Self, I thee defy

And consecrate my body unto war--

Send soldiers forth till limbs feel made of light.

Come bandits, liars, theives-- I am light's whore.

Great emptying Spirit, nurse this heathen child

That lust and innocence have wrought in me;

Ride Victory to bone. Suckle the light

Till darkness howls its pious elegy.

The dark's skin, cracked, bleeds light; the light bleeds black;

We run, we run, consuming what we've slain

And watch the ebb of captains turning back.

Now lights of red and purple fade to grey:

Two unmatched armies barter in the night;

I once again in sin succumb to light.

31 March

happy spring, y'all =)

Grass-Growing Music:

Bulletproof La Roux

Turn On Me The Shins

Let the Distance Keep Us Together Bright Eyes, Spoon & Britt Daniel

Sheep Go to Heaven Cake

We Intertwined The Hush Sound

To Be Alone With You Sufjan Stevens

i love the boy; i love him =)

Katie, return to me from Nassau; Alex, come back from Texas. Matty, return from Whitwell; Kathell, get thee off of work. Mother, get thee well. Spring! Spring! Je t'adore.

Lip Song, unfinished

You, godding my whole white room

as carefully as Christ would do,

loose fingers where, were I a nun,

the nape would be--

O love, proceeding,

ripe against a hunger and receding.

Love, you, tetherer of gods to men;

Unusual habit under which

Beauty is blackened and ripe.

O star to my befuddled star, love neither quite

so quickly nor so well.

Sonnet #5

It's a kind of marriage. It's a kind of war where I plant bombs inside of myself. -Anne Sexton, The Addict

Green suckling power of Self, I thee defy

And consecrate my body unto war--

Send soldiers forth till limbs feel made of light.

Come bandits, liars, thieves-- I am light's whore.

Great emptying Spirit, nurse this heathen child

That lust and innocence have wrought in me;

Ride Victory to bone. Suckle the light

Till darkness howls its pious elegy.

The dark's skin, cracked, bleeds light; the light bleeds black;

We run, we run, consuming what we've slain

And watch the ebb of captains turning back.

Now lights of red and purple fade to grey:

Two unmatched armies barter in the night;

I once again in sin succumb to light.

22 March

Norwegians spell out their fates in coffee cups. The patterns of the grounds are prophets of sorts, which is an interesting manifestation of creating our own gods and our own fates. Today I had a cat, which on further examination developed fangs and wolf-like features. I wonder what this means.

Happy one-day-late birthday, Mum. :)

19 March

love.