My cynicism may be phony but the toilet in my heart is for real and you’ll never know just how I feel."
Men’s Recovery Project
If the resolute fog of night is life,
who will clear a way to our homeward guardian,
to avoid loneliness after all?
The heart is met with memories once made.
More and more mature,
holding life’s experiences
while learning to dodge.
Is it possible?
Invested time is lost
and the impossible celebration
of an unexpected fulfilled wish
becomes emptiness before me.
The odorless night.
The man at the door says “it’s not time to go in.”
They pass con nadie.
Queiro ir a mi casa
The Argentine youth remains a bit unnerved
and I can’t explain a night filled with liquor and Christian faces
falling farther from the grace of American acceptance into good air and crazy traffic.
Estan mas locos aca pero no tienen mujeres
and I dream of Mariana.
I was looking for someone who had lines in her face.
I found her there but she was past all concern;
I asked her to hold me, I said, lady, unfold me,
But she scorned me and she told me
I was dead and I could never return."
— L. Cohen
among people, then let this be prearranged now,
between us, while we are still peoples: that
at the end of time, which is also the end of poetry
(and wheat and evil and insects and love),
when the entire human race gathers in the flesh,
reconstituted down to the infant’s tiniest fold
and littlest nail, I will be standing at the edge
of that fathomless crowd with an orange for you.
– Mary Ruefle, “Kiss of the Sun"
— Mary Ruefle, “Kiss of the Sun” (via kdecember)