February 2021

[text ID: Is this your sadness? asks the trashman. No, that is a fishbone and that is a soup can and that over there is no longer recognizable. /end ID]

bloodbuzzed:

richard siken - anyway // the worm king’s lullaby

[text ID: He was point at the moon but I was looking at his hand.  He was dead anyway, a ghost.  I’m surprised I saw his hand at all.  The moon, of course, is always there - day moon, but it’s still there, behind the clouds but it’s still there.  I like seeing things: a hand, the moon, ice in a highball glass.  The moon?  It’s free, it doesn’t cost you anything so go ahead and look. / He was pointing at the moon but I was looking at his hand.  He was dead anyway, a ghost.  I’m surprised I saw his hand at all.  All this was prepared for me.  All this was set in motion long ago.  I live in someone else’s future.  I stayed as long as I could, he said.  Now look at the moon. /end ID]

Black Telephone    &   The Language of the Birds

[text ID: There are two birds in your head, raven and crow, and only one of them is yours. / A man has two birds in his head - not in his throat, not in his chest - and the birds would sing all day never stopping.  The man thought to himself, One of these birds is not my bird.  The birds agreed. /end ID]

roadmotel:

Richard Siken, The Stag and the Quiver

[text ID: Everything is a target, says the hunter.  No matter where you look.  The hunter’s son says nothing, and closes his eyes. /end ID]