nothing between me and the white fire of the stars but my thoughts, and they floated light as moths

Jessica gives me a chill pill, Angie Sijun Lou

— THEORIES ABOUT THE UNIVERSE by Blythe Baird

Me @ the starling who is pissed at me because I won't let him build a nest in my dryer duct.

April

by Mary Oliver

I wanted to speak at length about the happiness of my body and the delight of my mind for it was April, a night, a full moon and --

but something in myself or maybe from somewhere other said: not too many words, please, in the muddy shallows the

Frogs are singing.

ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh (clutches my head and remembers that poem about All my dead friends and the frightening door

“all my dead friends” by marie howe

i’ve seen that tumblr post that’s like ‘tag this with the song lyrics stuck in your head’ so maybe let’s do that with poetry lines for whoever’s got poetry haunting them right now. tag / reply with any that come to mind!

by june bates

constantly constantly thinking about this

i hate when a poem is good. Fuck you for saying that for real

i will never stop thinking about this poem my greek professor showed us

Incident

by Norman MacCaig

I look across the table and think (fiery with love) Ask me, go on, ask me to do something impossible, something freakishly useless, something unimaginable and inimitable Like making a finger break into blossom or walking for half an hour in twenty minutes or remembering tomorrow. I will you to ask it. But all you say is Will you give me a cigarette? And I smile and, returning to the marvelous world of possibility I give you one with a hand that trembles with a human trembling.

Sometimes I Think My Body Leaves a Shape in the Air

by Ada Limón

I slipped my hands in the cold salt froth of the Pacific Ocean just two days ago. Planet-like and everything aquatic, even the sky, where an eagle unfolded so much larger than my shadow.

I was struck translucent. A good look for me!

My hands were slick with the water I was born next to, and there was a whole hour that I felt lived in, like a room.

I wish to be untethered and tethered all at once, my skin singes the sheets and there’s a tremor in the marrow.

On the way back to the city, a sign read: Boneless, Heartless, Binge-Worthy. Next to it was a fuzzy photograph of a jellyfish.

Imagine the body free of its anchors, the free-swimming, a locomotion propelling us, pulse by pulse, but here I am: the slow caboose of clumsy effort.

When the magician’s wife died, how could they be sure he hadn’t just turned her into ether, released her like a white bird begging for the sky outside the cage?

Creeley says, The plan is the body. What if he’s wrong?

I am always in too many worlds, sand sifting through my hands, another me speeding through the air, another me waving from a train window watching you waving from a train window watching me.

“Like A Good Woman” from There Should Be Flowers by Joshua Jennifer Espinoza 

— THEORIES ABOUT THE UNIVERSE by Blythe Baird (via voyageurvoyageur)