essie

“I guess I was falling in love. I think she was just falling.”
― Veronica Schanoes

“Epidermal Macabre

Indelicate is he who loathes
The aspect of his fleshy clothes,-
The flying fabric stitched on bone,
The vesture of the skeleton,
The garment neither fur nor hair,
The cloak of evil and despair,
The veil long violated by
Caresses of the hand and eye.
Yet such is my unseemliness:
I hate my epidermal dress,
The savage blood's obscenity,
The rags of my anatomy,
And willingly would I dispense
With false accouterments of sense,
To sleep immodestly, a most
Incarnadine and carnal ghost.”
― Theodore Roethke

“There is so much silence all around
that I think I can hear
moonlight crashing against the
windows.

A foreign voice
awakes inside my breast,
singing a longing which is not my
own.

They say that ancestors, who died
before their time,
with young blood in their veins,
with great passions in their blood,
with living sun in passions,
return,
return to live
inside us
their unspent lives.

There is so much silence all around
that I think I can hear
moonlight crashing against the
windows.

Oh, who knows, my soul -in whose
breast you too will sing, in centur-
ies to come,
on sweet strings of silence
on a harp of darkness,
your smothered longing and your
broken joy of life? Who knows?
Who knows?”
― Lucian Blaga, Poems of Light

“And God,
please let the deer
on the highway
get some kind of heaven.
Something with tall soft grass
and sweet reunion.
Let the moths in porch lights
go some place
with a thousand suns,
that taste like sugar
and get swallowed whole.
May the mice
in oil and glue
have forever dry, warm fur
and full bellies.
If I am killed
for simply living,
let death be kinder
than man.”
― Althea Davis