( via / via )

Fables of Faubus.

   Not a Church Wedding

I never can remember the morning rain
so quietly does it become a mood,
& thence a land, where all things bent & dismayed
by Time’s oppression dwell in immaculate ruin.
The light indoors seems stronger, though unwell.
I wanna/ sit alone & contemplate the taste
of autumn, empire’s end, & death; i’d test
bounds, if but in parable, to wail
by a gray shore with the immaterial forms…
   Usually i have to go somewhere, which forms
the context of this feeling, for the tarn
i leave behind, unvisited, its murk
& mists & dragging winds lacking my bark
to laze there, counterpoise,
      —begins to churn.

Deserts.

"in tagalog, instead of saying 'whatever happens happens' we say 'bahala na si batman' which loosely translates to 'let batman handle it' and i think that’s beautiful" —@kmillz.lol

"Perhaps a better comparison is not to the old transplanted soul in San Francisco’s Chinatown, living out his days in a back room of his children’s dim-sum restaurant...but rather to the exiled Kurdish or Dagestani intellectual who spends his days in a brutalist Paris highrise apartment writing melancholy poems of the landscapes of his childhood."