May102014
donef0r:

not my photo, just my edit
La Dispute | Hudsonville Mi 1956




La Dispute new album! Thanks for always being an inspiration to me, LD ;D

donef0r:

not my photo, just my edit

La Dispute | Hudsonville Mi 1956

La Dispute new album! Thanks for always being an inspiration to me, LD ;D

(Source: disc0mbobulating)

February152014
“Night is purer than day; it is better for thinking, loving and dreaming. At night everything is more intense, more true. The echo of words that have been spoken during the day takes on a new and deeper meaning.” Elie Wiesel, Dawn   (via -virtual)

(Source: coypatalagsa, via purpleamyxo)

12AM
“A population that does not take care of the elderly and of the children and the young has no future because it abuses both its memory and its promise.” Pope Francis (via ofmelodiesanddandelionwishes)

(Source: hopeandstellaofamessyuniverse, via amberkoneval)

January302014

I want to say
that we were asleep
when it happened:
enchanted by the
hours between midnight &
two A.M.,
lulled into loving by
the lie of a
forty-degree day
in January-

my mouth suddenly
on yours & rather
enjoying it,
so much I didn’t
remember how to stop,
didn’t know anything
but this place
underneath the blankets
your heartbeat shattering
my jawbone.

It could have
been just the beginning of a dream,
that blue basement,
the red, red, red,
of your fingertips.

But you never remember
actually falling in dreams,
just the whistle of
air through your hair

and I remember hitting
the space within your eyes
and never letting go.

and when I left,
I tripped over
secrecy and blinked in
the glare of the midday sun:
the confusion of being
far too awake.

12AM

She Loves the Ocean

She loves the ocean:
the push&pull of
the tide
the space between
the depths.
She loves it because it’s as old
as the cliffs and older than the trees
yet remembers less:
and instead washes and whispers
nonsense,
taking the solid things:
the slate and shale
with it.

12AM

(Source: stablep0rn, via varsityrider)

January192014

What I should have said instead of “nothing” when you asked what I was thinking

I should have said
that I noticed
the way your
fingers climbed
the rungs of my
ribcage like they
would go straight
to heaven.

I should have said that
I love the way your
hair falls over your eyes,
that I could brush it away
for the next ten days,
ten months, or ten years
and be perfectly
happy with my place
in the universe

I should have said
that I felt the
desperation of the hummingbird
heartbeat in your
fingertips,
that I would never be the water
to the fire in your veins
that I’m only one one billionth
the weight of this
free falling planet:
I am no anchor.

But what I really should
have said is that
though we lack
a doormat, a roof
or even the
floor
I should have said
that this
feels like
home.

December302013

In a Dream

In a dream,

we filled the 

empty spaces

with the souvenirs 

of this life,

the mementos

of now

your lips on

mine,

hands in my hair.

In a dream

I found the world

in your eyes

and waved goodbye

to the scenery in

the rearview mirrors.

But later

we awoke

and discovered

to find

that black shadows

had crept over the fallen

snow,

and that we didn’t remember

anything of what

we’d done.

dreamlike. 

4PM

A Love Letter to Dear Milwaukee

I left my heart 

in this city:


It skates down Lake Drive,

the wind in its hair,

mouth wide open,

summer a whisper

on the late March air


I left my heart 

in this city:


It walks the old

railroad bridge,

remembers sitting

with you,

staring out at 

the hazy Milwaukee

river,

climbing the rusty rungs while

holding your hand.

I left my heart

in this city:


though it almost got

stolen away to Texas

but knew that

it belongs in the streets

of its midwestern hometown

knew that sometimes you

have to wait through winter

to get to see the wildflowers

of June.


I left my heart 

in this city:


It beats in every sidewalk

crack,

knocks on 

every windowpane,

trying to find its way

home.

December72013

For Danny, Forever Ago

I loved your old house

because it always 

reminded me of 

why I love this city:

it left little souvenirs

on all three floors-


Beer horses on the mirror

in the basement,

University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee

glasses stacked in the cupboard,

concert ticket stubs from the Rave

 taped like tiny good luck charms 

in each corner of your bedroom

and stöllen in the dessert case.

& we’d go upstairs

eat sour cherry gummies, 

wrestle under the blanket

your grandma had given you

because she couldn’t 

stand to see you shiver.


I don’t think I ever saw 

you in the pale winter sun 

that year,

just with the benevolence of 

street lamps against new snow

behind you,

your dark eyes sparkling

like stars reflected in

the frozen lake. 


Those few months are sepia

edged in my memory:

glimpses of a world that glows

softer and brighter than

this one. 

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