bukart:

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. 

bukart:

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. 

apoetreflects:

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

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(via yama-bato)