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“…so how shall I live now in the unexpected present, I spent so long in a lover’s quarrel with my flesh…”

— Kaveh Akbar, from Calling a Wolf a Wolf; Against Dying. (via xshayarsha)

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But mostly we’re forgetting we’re dead stars too, my mouth is full of dust and I wish to reclaim the rising— to lean in the spotlight of streetlight with you, toward what’s larger within us, toward how we were born. Look, we are not unspectacular things. We’ve come this far, survived this much. What would happen if we decided to survive more? To love harder?

Ada Limón, from The Carrying: Poems

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- Franz Kafka, The Blue Octavo Notebooks.

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“And I would hide my face in you, and you would hide your face in me, and nobody would ever see us any more.”

— Franz Kafka, The Castle

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plainwater: essays and poetry — the anthropology of water: kinds of water, anne carson

[ID: “I feel so lonely, like childhood again.” end ID]

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It was spring’s birthday and all the robins remembered

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Yehuda Amichai, “Six Poems for Tamar” translated by Chana Bloch.

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“April is the cruellest month, breeding lilacs out of the dead land, mixing memory and desire, stirring dull roots with spring rain.”

— T. S. Eliot, from The Waste Land and Other Poems: “The Waste Land” (via intopermanence)

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Chana Bloch, “A Life on Earth”

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“So what can we really do for each other except—just love each other and be each other’s witness? And haven’t we got the right to hope—for more? So that we can really stretch into whoever we really are? Don’t you think so?”

— James Baldwin, from Another Country (Dial Press, 1962)

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elegy — chen chen / things about love & connection — @rynoook / little weirds — jenny slate

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“IT IS FUTILE TO TRY TO BE ANYTHING MORE THAN A MOMENT IN A BODY, STRETCHED OVER YEARS.”

— Eleanor Eli Moss, “THE BOOK OF HORSE,” from THE HOLY BIBLE (via bostonpoetryslam)

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Chana Bloch, “A Life on Earth”

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Benjamin Alire Sáenz, “To the Desert”

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[mxrjxy]

“I am dirty, Milena, infinitely dirty, this is why I scream so much about purity.”

— Franz Kafka, Letters to Milena

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Rainer Maria Rilke, "Antistrophes." The Selected Poetry of Rainer Maria Rilke (translated by Stephen Mitchell)