– For Mary Oliver "To love what is mortal; to hold it against your bones knowing your own life depends on it; and, when the time comes to let it go, to let it go." – Mary Oliver. So many hours, under the dark branches in the woods, or in the vastness of the desert … Continue reading Dear Teacher
– For Chris Tousimis Here’s the image: There was a jar of Nutella That’s been sitting around for a long time in the cupboard. — I went ahead and took a spoon full of it. One pauses these days, and wonders; how could this soft & dark, mud like mix be so good, yet sit … Continue reading Springtime In The Small Mammal House
I am laying on my bed, 3 or 4 in the morning and studying the walls, and the ceiling, and my hands, and smelling my eyes, and speaking to my feet. I wish I was laying on the glittering white sands by the Aegean Sea, 87 degrees fahrenheit, and the sea breeze. I reach my … Continue reading Ever Wondered?
For Loren B. When I was younger than today I sat at the edge of the night and plunged myself into the night's dark mouth, and fell for three winters. and then suddenly I came to a halt in the depth of 4000 meters, from a string attached to my waist. I am older … Continue reading For When You Need To Go – It’s OK.
No. 18 Filthy The whole goddamn city is burning its filthy lies to run its machinery and in my eyes there are birds flying over the ocean only to fall and to die starving out of hunger. and there's a man in his castle breaking bones to make a crown out of. Peyman 10.19.17 Washington … Continue reading No. 18 Filthy
who would have guessed, if you listen closely, you can hear colors screech in pain in a Van Gogh self-portrait. My ears are bleeding a sunset. Van Gogh went out to get Absinthe and bandage, what a night we are going to have, you should come. 10.9.17 Washington, D.C. Peyman
Never cared to be straightened anyway look what happened to straightest trees I am writing this poem on a table made out of their body. No thanks, I'll stay crooked and write poetry, you live that perfect life. 10.6.17 Washington, D.C. Peyman
Never been, until that time when the night opened her mouth, and through the slit, red as a fresh cut fig, you came with a thousand laughters blossoming in your mouth. 10.6.17 Washington, D.C. Peyman
Billy Collins Introduction to Poetry I ask them to take a poem and hold it up to the light like a color slide or press an ear against its hive. I say drop a mouse into a poem and watch him probe his way out, or walk inside the poem’s room and feel the walls … Continue reading Billy Collins – Introduction to Poetry
Ah! I have so much to say, and damn I am so busy to sit down and write! but so much.... so muuuuuuuuch is in this head of mine. At least, I am not tired!- As for the things I want to say you'll just have to find me and press your ear to mine … Continue reading Vera Pavlova – The Song of Songs.