the flesh covers the bone and they put a mind in there and sometimes a soul, and the women break vases against the walls and the men drink too much and nobody finds the one but keep looking crawling in and out of beds. 


the flesh covers the bone 
and they put a mind 
in there and 
sometimes a soul, 
and the women break 
vases against the walls 
and the men drink too 
and nobody finds the 
but keep 
crawling in and out 
of beds. 


Yesterday the wind took our picture 

 off the wall over the piano;               birds chirped

their curt symphonies in the box elder.            I thought

of you—              your obvious loveliness,         your obliviousness

to lost things.

—Sally Delehant, opening lines to “It’s Always Something,” from A Real Time of It (Cultural Society, 2012)

(via yama-bato)

Art is a journey into the most unknown thing of all - oneself. Nobody knows his own frontiers… I don’t think I’d ever want to take a road if I knew where it led.

Louis Kahan


(via yama-bato)