Today the mail brought contributor copies of Whiskey Island & it is truly gorgeous. Very happy to have this home some PLASTIC SONNETS.
When I first saw you,
it was like seeing
announcing her new profession
as part of a glitter-knifed burlesque.
There would be no colorless
laughter for you.
There would be nothing but color.
And I am ready for your flood.
You are throwing sparks, Ms. Monsoon.
Please, let me be shipwrecked
by your weather.
You silver-throated heart spiller.
You sleepy-eyed technicolor dream.
The stars are mere jewelry
as you wear them, letting us all shine.
what I’m trying to say is:
I love you, Jinkx.
You are the storm to make this world
jinkxmonsoon <3 <3
Chaka Khan - I’m Every Woman
& awful & pretentious & obvious & dumb.
Because all the best poems
are at least three of these things.
It isn’t that we should quit being sentimental.
It’s that we should get super good at it.
Our hearts are eighteen hungry wolves
that are okay saying things about ‘our hearts.’
|—||Sara Woods, “Notes to a Young Poet,” from H_NGM_N's project of the same name (via bostonpoetryslam)|
Crow Dad 1, part one
was made for? In each photograph
she is a dandelion at the birth
of a tornado, granting heaven
its every furious wish. To see
her move - the stuttering ballet, machine
gun scripture inked into the muscles
of her legs, is to know the body, at last,
as not a conduit for prayer, but prayer
|—||Jeremy Radin, “St. Vincent Live at the Wiltern,” published in Drunk in a Midnight Choir (via bostonpoetryslam)|