( via / me )

Flintlocks.

"We: faded light, a path;
gilded all in art lumina.
Madness went —I say—
away, all lit.

Solemn, ill, I was sent.
I was a bird,
a sad rib;
as a witness:
a will in me lost.

I’ll lay away as it.
News, send a man.
I’m ultra nil, laded light.
A path gilded a few.”

—Merlina Acevedo

The Triumphant Chariot of Antominy.

"Those who are vulnerable move among mysteries." --Roethke

"Often, two subsequent feelings arrive to shore up our initial repulsion: first, a sense of righteous protectiveness over the hallowed tradition being milled into schlock, and second, resentment that someone else is enjoying a readership." (via aldaily)