as captured by the great Tatington
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why
Even the sun-clouds this morning cannot manage such skirts.
Nor the woman in the ambulance
Whose red heart blooms through her coat so astoundingly--
A gift, a love gift
Utterly unasked for
By a sky
Palely and flamily
Igniting its carbon monoxide, by eyes
Dulled to a halt under bowlers.
O my God, what am I
That these late mouths should cry open
In a forest of frost, in a dawn of cornflowers.
- Poppies in October by Sylvia Plath
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2011
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July
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- Mounir Fatmi, Maximum Sensation
- this is it
- obvious, but still great
- Classic
- RU486, by Bob Hicok
- by faktura via ernesto lago
- Figs
- IS THIS A JOKE
- Robert Morris
- Irregular Grid
- Instituto Mexicano del Sonido
- why the fuck not
- Coney Island Beach Scene, by Howard Greenberg
- The internet sucks
- Patti
- Paul Landacre
- Yeah...
- The Connoisseuse of Slugs, by Sharon Olds
- Preliminary thoughts about the imprints of a popul...
- Nighttime
- Leibby Kletzky
- Popped into my head
- Obsessed
- Ramblings about art
- Stuff The New York Times Thinks Is Cool
- Listening to this 9-track wonder on repeat
- Poem for my friends
- I want to die.
- San and Escif
- Near life experience
- Dara Puspita
- starting a collection
- Stuck in my head for two days
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July
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hah. not sure how I feel about the nickname.
ReplyDeleteyou don't like it? my brother guessed that's what Tate is short for. don't worry I doubt it will catch on.
ReplyDeletenice!
ReplyDelete