There are vultures
waiting on the sidelines
to crack bones and feast
Believe that
they’re eyes will always grow with their stomachs

It is comforting to know
Something can turn
to nothing but dust in the desert heat.
It comforts me to know that
running only gets you as far as standing still

When you told me it tasted like sugar
I found myself believing in sweetness
because yours is a tongue i would sell myself short for
and your words sound strangely like heaven.
If i pick the pieces apart
I know they don’t fit together
but your voice travels to unknown places
and now i am ready to discover

worker-and-parasite:

The Face Test - Peter Martensen
luxology:

Blood of a Poet Box (1965-1968), Eleanor Antin 
Wood box containing blood samples taken from 100 poets.

The treasure chest of
your mouth has rusted.
What was once gold
is turned to dust
and your words
crush me like rubble.
I have never felt
the weight
of them the way
I do now -
let my ribs crack
underneath it so
my mind lies
where your thoughts do not.

The moon was full
the night she threw herself
from Suicide Bridge.
The moon was
full; the roads,
quiet; the air,
hot and sticky.
She caught it in
her crinoline.
She looked so pretty,
floating down like feathers,
in her petticoat, that
death cursed the wind
as it stole her from him 


Adam McEwen
Untitled Text Msg (Vicodin), 2010
Inkjet print on vinyl, 154 x 154 inches
lustik:

Attic, paper, yarn - Maiko Hasegawa
stunningpicture:

Ethiopian Welo Opal New gem found looks like the ocean in rock