I was the name of nothing and I moved like a god

with my tongue. I was everything to everyone

and I sat on my stoop with my hands on my crown.

Anne Marie Rooney, β€œThe year of waiting on rooves for August to end,” published in Gigantic Sequins (via bostonpoetryslam)
My blood is milk, skim, thin enough to reach my toes. I have shivered
in my sleep since at least eight years before we met.
Gregory Sherl, excerpt of Heavy Petting in Cooper CityΒ  (via camilla-macauley)

curdspluswhey: Spicer’s cute broadside, “RABBITS DO NOT KNOW WHAT THEY ARE”

Henrik Sorenson