thedeadanonpoetssociety

[thedeadanonpoetssociety]

[thedeadanonpoetssociety]

you want to be understood?

speak, then. make yourself understood, then.

easier said than done, of course.

of course, the words are stubborn.

the words stick, the words fold, the words dissipate in the heat of your mouth.

speak? I’m speaking, mouth open and words come flooding, horrible and wet, between us.

understand me, but the form of them is coiling pitifully like some sad parasite. not a thing you’d want to touch.

understand me, and my hand passing those inches to touch a meaning to skin shimmers into a different shape. not the caress I meant to convey.

I understand; no understanding between us, no matter the rituals undertaken -

all matter of rituals overtaken by distance; overtaken by self.

grasp hands, meet eyes, bleed out - still the color that flows from you is redder, then greener, then bluer than mine.

understanding, my gun and your gavel. your song, my scream. my lifeless corpse and you standing over it, shaking your head with disappointment.

understand, then: nothing.

- z

. The Dead Anon Poets Society .

[thedeadanonpoetssociety]

Patrick Pietropoli  -  Conversation   (oil and silver on canvas, 2018)

[thedeadanonpoetssociety]

let's make bread like we're making love/knead at my skin/reshape me/leave behind your fingerprints/keep parts of me tucked away in cupboards/sit me out in the sun//e.

. The Dead Anon Poets Society .

[thedeadanonpoetssociety]

(via Pinterest: Discover and save creative ideas)

[thedeadanonpoetssociety]

Abraham begat Isaac, and Isaac begat Jacob, and God begat love, and love begat /him/, and he begat liquor, and liquor begat blaspheme, and from blaspheme they found love, and all the Gods in the sky couldn't figure out how to put it back together again, and nursery rhymes bled into lonely nights, and I forgot the point, but it is that love and sin bleed and bleed and bleed into one another until we forget what we've become, only, and forever, to become one. Inciting Riots (hi lis)

. The Dead Anon Poets Society .

[thedeadanonpoetssociety]

Maison Martin Margiela Spring 2006.

[thedeadanonpoetssociety]

Would you mind terribly if I used the poem I wrote you for secret Santa in my little poetry/art zine I'm working on? ~mj

Of course you can, dear. Everything you write belongs only to you. This is but a mere vessel xx

[thedeadanonpoetssociety]

A dream soul that wanders.

Sheryl Lee, Michael Horse, Kyle MacLachlan | Twin Peaks

[thedeadanonpoetssociety]

Along this dusty road I tread / As shadows close the day / And linger, looking whence I've come; / My homeland far away / My shoes are worn, my heart is torn / I love not where I lay / But hearing lilting, through your door / Your warmth, I sigh and say / Here I am, threadbare and wild / I need a place to stay / I'm skyward bound, a forest child / I need a place to stay/ Will you take me as I am?/ Will you? Yes, or nay?/ A windblown seed, aching, I plead/ You'll be my place to stay - Fray

. The Dead Anon Poets Society .

[thedeadanonpoetssociety]

Santiago Rusiñol, Aranjuez Garden. Arbor, II, 1907

[thedeadanonpoetssociety]

We are flames, you and I: Remember when you brought the storm clouds? I fought and fought and flickered; she was a breeze, why didn't you see? He was a rock, I blazed and he stayed cold and cold and hard; Fire finds fire, and I can't remember how the rain hurt, but God, don't you see me watching the door? Flames can't stay; let me lust and burn with you forever (I know you'll go), oh, fire can't scorch fire (I know you'll go), how could I live anywhere but your embrace (please stay) / seaxfire

. The Dead Anon Poets Society .

[thedeadanonpoetssociety]

Tityus (detail, 1632) Jusepe de Ribera

[thedeadanonpoetssociety]

Robins in the rain come rustling into the thicket; / their little red chests wet like blood.

Please kiss me like robins come, red, to the thicket. / Come kiss me, like rain. - z

. The Dead Anon Poets Society .

[thedeadanonpoetssociety]

ghost horses - by Danse de Lune

[thedeadanonpoetssociety]

more and more this gaping hole in my chest grows hungry for something I do not have / her razor sharp thoughts tear me away from the ones I love. / this is my mouth but they’re not my teeth / these are my hands but they’re not my claws / this is my body and this is my pain but the lines between me and her blur more everyday. / I want to hold you but I will only do much worse / I will come back when I am free of this missing / I will come back when I am whole / I will come back to the earth with the rain / and maybe she will let me go // aisling.

. The Dead Anon Poets Society .

[thedeadanonpoetssociety]

Cloud forest