veggiedaddy:

crow: doing a silly little walk through the grass

me, in tears: fucking superb you funky little death omen

lifeinpoetry:

i want nothing
for you
but endless poetry  
easy ppl      
slow morning
strong coffee      
dynamic emoji    
time to read
dancing dog
uncracked screen    
mountain    
bunny        
a million years                          
deep sense of peace      
& somebody
who loves you
for free    
when she sees
your animal grace
your swagger    
the way you open fruit </3  
o! i am glad
to have known you

— Sophie Robinson, from “art in america,” published in BOMB

(Source: bombmagazine.org)

lifeinpoetry:

2500         Future child // in our andromeda the STARS won’t shoot or die // or belong to / cops. I hope you’re reckless with your joy.

— Christopher Soto, from “Anthropological Angst,” published in The Rumpus

(Source: therumpus.net)

lifeinpoetry:

I am just like my mother. I buy books and tell myself that I am buying
wisdom and at the end of my life, I own a house full of books. When I
was little, I thought that the water came out of the showerhead
because it was crying. This is because I heard my mother crying and
thought it was the showerhead

— Ken Chen, “Essay on Crying at Night,” Juvenilia

(Source: lifeinpoetry)

lifeinpoetry:

I know, I know it sounds strange
climbing inside a boy & crawling
out into yesterday’s light.

— Hieu Minh Nguyen, from “White Boy Time Machine: Instruction Manual,” Not Here

(Source: lifeinpoetry)

lifeinpoetry:

Here, in a seed, is a cyborg: A bleeding girl, dragging a knife through the sand. An imaginary girl who dreams of becoming trash.

— Franny Choi, from “A Brief History of Cyborgs,” published in Drunken Boat

(Source: drunkenboat.com)

lifeinpoetry:

we were a practical smiling god
a practical smiling god

all the blood and talking
blood and talking

— Cat Woodward, from “[i prophecy innocence all over the place],” published in Datableed

(Source: datableedzine.com)

lifeinpoetry:

We are the Cornioles,

who, after being eaten alive by a whale, enters the whale’s body
and takes small, tender bites of the whale’s enormous heart.

— Marianne Chan, from “When the Man at the Party Said He Wanted to Own a Filipino,” published in The Rumpus

(Source: therumpus.net)

lifeinpoetry:

I have loved myself back
to this gulf of shorn stars

to the black cave of your eye

— Scherezade Siobhan, from “Wait // Waqt,” published in Datableed

(Source: datableedzine.com)