theburningflash

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David Lynch just passed. If everyone could spend the next few weeks becoming a little more offbeat, a little more in touch with the strangeness of our world, maybe we could begin to replace the massive void he leaves. We may not see another artist like him reach prominence within our lifetimes, so please go out and search, in the world and in yourself. Embody the truth, lead with love, hold the hands of those outstretched to you, and go as far as you can, no matter how deep and how dark, face it with love.

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nobody who has ever made me feel small and unwanted has possessed a heart or a life that i admired

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perfect song by Heather Christle

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Carl Phillips, "Fixed Shadow, Moving Water", Then the War: New and Selected Poems [ID'd]

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James Wright

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horses in the field this evening (they go out at night) (the horses) make a comment to my brother as we pull in to the barn (we live there) (with the horses) "what if the horses are eating the grave dirt" (one of the horses died this morning) (old as hell they found him in the field like that) (buried him where he lay) going up the drive see the horses in the field all of them (eight geldings) standing on the dirt (grave dirt) gathered around heads down as if to graze (a holy communion) (do they know he's there where they left him this morning?) and they are EATING. the DIRT. from the grave of a horse (his name was oliver) because they are horses and that is what horses know to do with a pile of dirt (they eat it) and they look up as we approach (for a photo because this is funny as hell) licking their lips of the dirt of the tomb and i take a picture but it comes out fuzzy and strange with a double image in red of their great big bodies (chestnuts and bays) (the color of dirt) and thats how i took a picture of the ghost of a horse

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making the most benign moments the signposts by which i'll live my life. keep going till i see a toddler running through the supermarket. keep going until i catch dew on the grass. keep going until the cherry blossoms start heaping all over the cars parked by the verge. keep going until i see a robin by the train tracks. keep going until i get a warm apple crumble. keep going till i get to admire the cashier's eye makeup. keep going till the bus driver says "thanks, lovey". keep going till i hear rain in the morning. keep going till i peel a perfect boiled egg. keep going till i press a warm mug of tea to my cheek........keep going until until until until until until

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I think i met an angel on the train

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Alexandre Schoenewerk, La jeune Tarentine (𝟣𝟪𝟩𝟣)

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for the dead by adrienne rich

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part of Eve’s discussion by marie howe

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The Silver Lily by Louise Glück

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thanks by w.s. merwin

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i'm in the prime of my life (the eternal present)

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lullaby at 102º by Traci Brimhall