[…] remember, loneliness is still time spent with the world. — Ocean Vuong, from “Someday I’ll Love Ocean Vuong,” The New Yorker: Poems. May 4, 2015 Issue.
Is that what art is? To be touched thinking what we feel is ours, when, in the end, it was someone else, in longing, who finds us? — Ocean Vuong, On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous (Penguin, 2019)
Language exists because nothing exists between those who express themselves. All language is therefore a language of prayer. Held in the dark, without sleep. — Lynn Xu, from “Say You Will Die For Me,” Debts and Lessons.( Omnidawn; 1 edition, April 1, 2013)
Sadness is the ambrosia of all art. ― Frances Fong
Eurydice It’s more like the sound a doe makes when the arrowhead replaces the day with an answer to the rib’s hollowed hum. We saw it coming but kept walking through the hole in the garden. Because the leaves were bright green & the fire only a pink brushstroke in the distance. It’s not about… Continue reading Ocean Vuong
On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous i Tell me it was for the hunger & nothing less. For hunger is to give the body what it knows it cannot keep. That this amber light whittled down by another war is all that pins my hand to your chest. i You, drowning between my arms — stay. You,… Continue reading Ocean Vuong
I look at you and see all the ways / a soul can bruise, and I wish / I could sink my hands into your flesh / and light lanterns along your spine / so you know that there’s nothing / but light / when I see you. — Shinji Moon, from “A Thousand Paper… Continue reading Shinji Moon