( via/ via )

Cosmic Warlord Kin-Bright.

"Self-portrait

A lens of crystal whose transparence calms
Queer stars to clarity, and disentangles
Fox-fires to form austere refracted angles;
A texture polished on the horny palms
Of vast equivocal creatures, beast or human:
A flint, a substance finer-grained than snow,
Graved with the Graces in intaglio
To set sarcastic sigil on the woman.

This for the mind, and for the little rest
A hollow scooped to blackness in the breast,
The simulacrum of a cloud, a feather:
Instead of stone, instead of sculptured strength,
This soul, this vanity, blown hither and thither
By trivial breath, over the whole world's length."

--Elinor Wylie

Hot Wasp Summer.

"No bastard son of sea-froth deified
With all his arrows could twist half the pains
That pinion me as I am swept inside
And sprawl, half drowning, through your inner veins."

--Jack Spicer via

Jinkx on J K. (The only "J-K" we know around here is J-K Huysmans.)