Angelus Obsidian. Sturgeon. Infatuated angels. Which only we can translate into flesh. The language to which we alone are native. Our own bait. We are spirits housed in meat, instantly opaque to the Lord. As Jesus. We go into the deadfall of the body, our hearts in their marvelous cases and discover new belfries everywhere.… Continue reading Jack Gilbert
I was jealous; therefore I loved. ― Jack London, The Sea Wolf. (Alan Rodgers Books, June 1, 2005) Originally published 1904.
If only she would turn to the page where I am writing this. It’s all I know—hello there—how to do. Lonesome, Lonesome. And how are you? —Steve Scafidi, from “This Page,” Sparks from a Nine-Pound Hammer (Louisiana State University Press, 2001)
However, a good laugh is a mighty good thing, and rather too scarce a good thing; the more’s the pity. So, if any one man, in his own proper person, afford stuff for a good joke to anybody, let him not be backward, but let him cheerfully allow himself to spend and to be spent… Continue reading Herman Melville
We lie in bed at night, thinking about The future, always the future, always forgetting That it will be the past, hard and hollow, Veiled and humming, soon enough. — Mark Jarman, from “The Children,” The Black Riviera (Wesleyan University Press, 1990)
I think I love him, but I also think that you can love people who aren’t good for you. — Augusten Burroughs, Dry. (Picador, April 1, 2004) Originally published January 1st 2003.
This flute is played with fire, not with wind, and without this fire you would not exist. It is the fire of love that inspires the flute. It is the ferment of love that completes the wine. The reed is a comfort to all estranged lovers. Its music tears our veils away. Have you ever… Continue reading Rumi