Old man, you surface seldom.
Then you come in with the tideās coming
When seas wash cold, foam-
Capped: white hair, white beard, far-flung,
A dragnet, rising, falling, as waves
Crest and trough. Miles long
Extend the radial sheaves
Of your spread hair, in which wrinkling skeins
Knotted, caught, survives
The old myth of origins
Unimaginable. You float near
As keeled ice-mountains
Of the north, to be steered clear
Of, not fathomed. All obscurity
Starts with a danger:
Your dangers are many. I
Cannot look much but your form suffers
Some strange injury
And seems to die: so vapors
Ravel to clearness on the dawn sea.
The muddy rumors
Of your burial move me
To half-believe: your reappearance
Proves rumors shallow,
For the archaic trenched lines
Of your grained face shed time in runnels:
Ages beat like rains
On the unbeaten channels
Of the ocean. Such sage humor and
Durance are whirlpools
To make away with the ground-
Work of the earth and the skyāsĀ ridgepole.
Waist down, you may wind
One labyrinthine tangle
To root deep among knuckles, shin-
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā bones,
Skulls. Inscrutable,
Below shoulders not once
Seen by any man who kept his head,
You defy questions;
You defy godhood.
I walk dry on your kingdomās border
Exiled to no good.
Your shelled bed I remember.
Father, this thick air is murderous.
I would breathe water.
Feb 11, 2025
Related Recs
ā
āBut it is hard to speak of these things/how the voices of light enter the body/and begin to write their stories/how the earth holds us painfully against its breast made of humor and bramblesā¦where we stand in the tremble of thought/taking the vast outside into ourselvesā (Directions, 11).Ā
Jan 28, 2024
š„
Raw shore of paradise
which the long waves reach
just as they fail
one after the other
bare strand beyond which
at times I believe I see
as in a glass darkly
what I know here
and now cannot be
a face I can never touch
a gaze that cannot stay
which I catch sight of
still turned upon me
following me
from under the sky
of your groundless country
that has no syllable of its own
what good to you are the treasures beyond
words or number
that you seize forever
unmapped imperium
when only here
in the present
which has lost them
only now
in the moment you
have not yet taken
does anyone know them
or how rare they are
Apr 9, 2024
š„
Before it came inside
I had watched it from my kitchen window,
watched it swell like a new balloon,
watched it slump and then divide,
like something I know I know -
a broken pear or two halves of the moon,
or round white plates floating nowhere
or fat hands waving in the summer air
until they fold together like a fist or a knee.
After that it came to my door. Now it lives here.
And of course: it is a soft sound, soft as a seal's ear
that was caught between a shape and a shape and then returned to me.
You know how parents call
from sweet beaches anywhere,Ā come in come in,
and how you sank under water to put out
the sound, or how one of them touched in the hall
at night: the rustle and the skin
you couldn't know, but heard, the stout
slap of tides and the dog snoring. It's here
now, caught back from time in my adult year -
the image we did forget: the cranking shells on our feet
or the swing of the spoon in soup. It is real
as splinters stuck in your ear. The noise we steal
is half a bell. And outside cars whisk by on the suburban street
and are there and are true.
What else is this, this intricate shape of air?
calling me, calling you.
May 7, 2024
Top Recs from @eerieplease
i decided to spend my birthday last year in patagonia because i wanted to go on an adventure and see beautiful things. the initial plan was to go to antarctica but that didnāt work out so i decided to go to as close to the end of the world as i could. itās really one of those trips that make you believe in the glorious mysteries of life. exploring the wilderness while listening to black marbleās āitās immaterialā was wonderful.
Jan 6, 2025
if you think about it, being delusional is kind of like manifesting. itās like maxine so beautifully said āi will not accept a life i do not deserveā āļøāļøāļø. i long for the day when delusional girls will run the world. letās go
Feb 10, 2025
this ethiopian nun composed some beautiful songs that perfectly encapsulate the state of always yearning for something. itāa the perfect music to listen to on a plane while playing zelda. my favs are probably āballad of the spiritsā and āmotherās loveā.
Dec 25, 2024