you go too far, marlowe.
those are harsh words to throw at a man. especially when he's walking out of your bedroom.
i do what i want.
one night stand.
Listen, you silk-hearted bastard
I said in the bar last night,
You wear those dream clothes
Like a swan out of water.
Listen, you wool-feathered bastard,
My name, just for the record, is Leda.
I can remember pretending
That your red silk tie is a real heart
That your raw wool suit is real flesh
That you could float beside me with a swan’s touch
Of casual satisfaction.
But not the swan’s blood.
Waking tomorrow, I remember only
Somebody’s feathers and his wrinkled heart
Draped loosely in my bed.
- Jack Spicer.
…all incomplete, all abortive because I thought, like all abortionists, that what is not perfect had no real right to live.
Things fit together. We knew that—it is the principle of magic. Two inconsequential things can combine together to become a consequence. This is true of poems too. A poem is never to be judged by itself alone. A poem is never by itself alone.
thedisneyvault:(via ahlowhee)
i have made many mistakes like this one.
… and again. huh.
huh.
