long lazy honeyed days of heaven light

“Self-Portrait as a Photograph of my Father

Today, the seedpods on the Milkweed
growing along the road between the airport
and the place my grandparents will die
began to open themselves, imperceptibly,
as if each were the beak of a baby
crane at the first change in pressure that comes
with their mother’s circling descent. I saw them like this
from the window of my father’s Buick, saw each
one of them pass us by, their cracked
mouths and eyeless heads, and said
nothing. Soon, after watching my father stand
in unsteady synchrony with his father,
I will lift myself from the davenport in the lobby,
and head for the patio where I will stand at my father’s
left hand, his father’s right, and I will smile
for the camera, not noticing how the seeds on the silver
maple behind us have nearly matured. How some
have already detached themselves from its branches,
have begun their slow, spinning fall.
We smile these facsimile smiles, lips taut
over straight, white teeth, because we feel
a sort of pressure in the air: something that tells us
that we are mortal, that we will be here
forever.”
ljm:

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jkakajfjvböigydafvhdaiafbö<jfb<jbv<jbsoo<bdfsuhuandb,coä !!!!!!!!”!”!!!!!

ljm:

INTERNET STOP THIS RIGHT NOW

jkakajfjvböigydafvhdaiafbö<jfb<jbv<jbsoo<bdfsuhuandb,coä !!!!!!!!”!”!!!!!

(Source: 4gifs)

i am a bullet they all dodged

swedesinstockholm:

i wish you could print gifs on tshirts

lulz

This is how it is to sleep
with deer nearby, invisibly around
in beds of flattened grasses,
wet muzzles wetted with dew
late, when it comes,

and early they are standing,
true prey, watching the air
with satellite-dish ears as they nose
the ground, crushing ferns
between tooth and hoof.

Forgive me if I touch your face
in place of another face,
with these fingers in the place
of other fingers, my own,
the ones I remember.

There is no end that does not end,
no going on that does not worsen.
The moment is far away.
The dents in my eyes are
where the future lives

but my eyes are closed.
Sleep ravels away from me.
One by one we gentle our loves
to the ground. This is how
it is to sleep near a sea

that sounds like the traffic
of familiar feet, the way rain sounds
to the sea, the way deer sound
to a cougar gliding across the field
at hungry dawn.

"Aubade" - Lisa Olstein (via extranarosa)

this. this is everything

(Source: lucid-star)