I had love once in the palm of my hand. See the lines there. — John Wieners, from “A Poem for Painters,” Selected poems, 1958-1984 (Black Sparrow Books, 1986)
To absent friends, lost loves, old gods, and the season of mists; and may each and every one of us always give the devil his due. ― Neil Gaiman, The Sandman, Vol. 4: Season of Mists. (Vertigo; Gph edition, March 10, 1999) Originally published 1990.
My longing was ruby-colored. I wore it around my neck, and everything was drunkenness and dance, every day a kind of drowning— — Zeina Hashem Beck, from “I Dreamt We Threw Bread Crumbs,” Louder Than Hearts: Poems (Bauhan Pub, 2017)
Dilemmas of the Angels: Flight Before the angel there was something else— not this coffee shop next to a drug rehabilitation center filled with war veterans of the past, men and women strapped to their chairs, birds straining to rise from piles of feathers, bones, and blood. Drenched in sweat and a little shaky from… Continue reading David Romtvedt
So this is love. So this is entropy. I’ll break every bone in my feet running toward the shiny gate of it. The whole damn sky holds its breath. — Stevie Edwards, from “Offering,” Humanly. (Small Doggies Press, March 17, 2015)
You have my permission not to love me; I am a cathedral of deadbolts and I’d rather burn myself down than change the locks. — Rachel McKibbens, from “Letter From My Brain to My Heart,” Pink Elephants. (Cypher Books, December 1, 2009)
Every time I kiss you After a long separation I feel I am putting a hurried love letter In a red mailbox. — Nizar Qabbani, “Every Time I Kiss You,” Arabic Poetry: http://www.adab.com/en Modern Arabic Poetry >> Nizar Qabbani. Poem No.: 336.