Sweetly Dreaming, WIP, Daisy Eye Level
(via kirklandfruits)
I’ve had so many knives stuck into me, when they hand me a flower I can’t quite make out what it is. It takes time.
— Charles Bukowski (via showslow)
(Source: rabbitinthemoon, via herawakenings)
Black Letter Aviary: 2012 →
the year we discovered our hearts are made of wildflower seeds
that sprout when smashed in the dirt.
the year we found that many wildflowers are edible -
we survived off dandelion and dead nettle salads,
we drank wild chamomile tea,
we rejoiced in the fruits of our eternal detritus.
…
A poem I’ve been working on for the past few days. Also, this is my poetry blog if you are interested in following that. :)
Went on a walkabout today.
I watched a golden orb spider with seven legs catch a gnat and then return to the center of its web, remaining limbs constantly aware of every movement. I wrote a poem about a tree stump and divine sacrifice in my new year travel notebook.
I walked past comets and Saturn and almost to Pluto and rested in between, taking in space.
“This year,” a newspaper blackout poem by Austin Kleon
That’s all we can do. Most of the time.
This sums up what I was trying to say today.
