Tactical Pigeon's Internet Adventure

beauty-from-ashes:

MewithoutYou is lovely.

(Source: thejuliaduvall, via fuckyeahmewithoutyou)

Maybe there’ll be a bakery hiring, we’ll need a little bit of dough to get by.

fuckyeahmewithoutyou:

Columbus, OH 2012

fuckyeahmewithoutyou:

(Source: iscarabaid)

FOX: Provisionally ‘I,’ practically alive,
mistook signs for signified,
and so since have often tried to
run them off the cliff like Gadarene swine
and tied my thought-ropes in anchor bends
wondering whether we were someone better then,
or maybe just better able to pretend
(and what better means to our inevitable end!)

BEAR: No, I don’t know if I know,
though some with certainty insist
‘no certainty exists’

Well, I’m certain enough of this:
In the past 14 years,
there’s only one girl I’ve kissed.
in the blistering heat of the Asbury pier
we sat, quiet as monks on the Ferris wheel
until, looking down at the waltzer and out at the sea
I asked her ‘do you ever have that recurring fantasy
where you push little kids from the tops of the rides?’
She shook her head no, I said ‘Oh, neither do I.’
And with my grandmother’s ring, I went down on one knee
and the subsequent catastrophe
has since haunted me like a fiberglass ghost
in the attic my inconveniently selective memory

as provisionally ‘You’ mercifully withdrew
all the bearing points we thought we knew
Day’s run, day’s set plot; our compass shot
we sailed waywardly on,
singing out midnight archer songs, until well past dawn
it’s still dark on the deck of our boats
haphazardly blown, broken bows
our aimless arrow-words don’t mean a thing
so by now I think it’s pretty obvious that there’s no God
and there’s definitely a God

FOX: “I dreamt of the rocks on the Asbury dunes,
and that you jumped from the top of the Log Flume
And they gather like wolves on the boardwalk below
and they’re howling for answers no wolf can know
I charged at the waves with a glass in my hand,
and was tossed like a ball at the bottle stand
And I landed beside your remains on the stones
where your cold fingers wrapped round my ankle bone
While maybe ten feet away was a star,
thousands of times the size of our sun
exploding like tiny balloons you throw darts at

BEAR: I slept until our chest was full
of yarn we spun from Shetland wool
Socks from where the Dorset grows
sheared & scoured hours before the rooster crows
FOX: The price of German silver fell,
threw disused thalers down the superstition well

——

Fucking poetry.

(via flame-empress)

oh god.

By Ed Mosley