Fugazi

Alan Hanson: Because I'll Never Swim In Every Ocean →

Want is ten thousand blue feathers falling
all around me, and me unable to stomach
that I might catch five but never ten thousand.
So I drop my hands to my sides and wait
to be buried. I open a book and the words
spring and taunt. Flashes—motel, lapidary,
piranha—of every story, every poem…

Well this is fucking perfect. 



  1. johnqduddes reblogged this from lieslieslies
  2. itsrainingdust reblogged this from jacobwysocki and added:
    by Catherine Pierce from the excellent The Girls of Peculiar.
  3. huffingcreampuff reblogged this from lieslieslies
  4. cucumberrcarrot reblogged this from lieslieslies and added:
    I turned 22 today (in Croatia!) and this makes a world of sense
  5. clairefoley reblogged this from lieslieslies
  6. sarapolitoislands reblogged this from jacobwysocki and added:
    Want is ten thousand blue feathers falling all around me, and me unable to stomach that I might catch five but never ten...
  7. jacobwysocki reblogged this from lieslieslies and added:
    Well this is fucking perfect.
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