( via / via )

"Brooklyn is absolutely lousy with scooters these days; it’s like Djakarta or Morocco in the nineties."

" 'Frog,' said Toad, 'Where are you?' There was still no answer.

'Frog, what have I done?' cried Toad."

--@FrogandToadbot

The Last Light.

"Assume the Role of Cassandra, Wearing a Mask, Speaking into the Camera

No, nothing, no thing, no where—
the o of no blinks open

I think that you think that I think
too much about grief

It’s not only mine—we’re in the same current

You won’t hear it blazing always in the unprocessed
wind under the voice recording

I wear my nerve halo, a handful of seeds, a breakdown
in the blood-brain barrier

It’s come to this: the interstate with star-shaped
plants and mile markers that multiply one’s belonging

Can you hear the low pulse tree-growth consuming the fence?

Books are states of consciousness, a record—
What won’t finally kill you, you eat its tongue

Holy I’ll make the alphabet for interrupters, malcontents
Holy is the person who digs the person out the rubble into the grave

About you: weather will taste metallic in the overnight
visuals, something lightdark, slick-liver-wet

Put a whisper into a jar, a war
trots out of your chiaroscuro head"

--Carolina Ebeid at poets.org via @jadyjoudah

Between homeland and chasm.