The orange ranunculus
dropped its petals
like a soft feather war—
a dead fire bird,
a phoenix on the ground,
smooth still like the milk
puddles, lining the sink.
They boiled a thing
and it remained,
like homesickness
like depression, like ants
coming in from the rain.
Amor Fati “you cannot flee from yourself.” C. G. Jung, The Red Book Hello imp, Hello demon, tormentor, friend. You are dear to me. I wear you like a cap of wires, live snakes that needle me, jam fire down each nerve, make me hop to. You are a match, scraped up and down my […]
Read more "Amor Fati"Fridge Magnets Fridge magnets make the family. Remove one and memory fails. See them linger on the broad door. A museum of trips and pics. Each moment one reaches for wholesome milk the past does its best to please. Tim Kahl is the author of Possessing Yourself (CW Books, 2009), The Century of […]
Read more "Fridge Magnets"The Goat’s Eyes I go to the stone wall to call the goats not from my need nor from theirs, to be with them. A herd gathers under the bent apple tree soft nickering does curiosity in their low-tone bells swinging bags of dwindling milk over dimpled apples we bathe in sunshine their wild eyes […]
Read more "The Goat’s Eyes"Annie Blake is an Australian writer, thinker and researcher. She is a wife and mother of five children. She started school as an EAL student and was raised and, continues to live in a multicultural and industrial location in the West of Melbourne. Her main interests include psychoanalysis and metaphysics. She is currently focusing on in medias res […]
Read more "When I Fly Without Balloons"Annie Blake is an Australian writer, thinker and researcher. She is a wife and mother of five children. She started school as an EAL student and was raised and, continues to live in a multicultural and industrial location in the West of Melbourne. Her main interests include psychoanalysis and metaphysics. She is currently focusing on in medias res […]
Read more "The Man Who Hatched From The Moon"Milk When I learned your mother hadn’t breastfed you, I wanted to do it. Having no milk, we would have to imagine it. “It tastes like moonlight,” I would say, feeling the silent warmth empty from my breast, a grown man suckling that long denied nourishment, a homecoming. [Meet the Moon | Christian Schloe]
Read more "Milk"To the tune of “You Are My Sunshine.” Here come the boobies, the milky boobies. They’ll make you happy, and oh so glad. They’ll fill you belly, and make you merry. Drink your milk. You’ll grow big and strong. To the tune of “Oops I Did It Again.” Oops I did it again. I sprayed […]
Read more "Songs To Nurse To"
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