Thieving Walrus

Brooklyn

Category: Poetry

Foxygen

lighting teenage cigs stealing an apple interview lies eyeliner in paris scaring children find the residue inside a nostril, young in Paris

They’re sexy because they’re needy, which degrades them. They’re sexy because they don’t need you. They’re sexy because they pretend not to need you, but they’re lying, which degrades them. They’re beneath you and it’s hot. They’re across the border, rhymes with dancer— they don’t need to understand. They’re content to be (not mean), which [...]

—What’ll it be? Roast beef on rye, with tomato and mayo. —Whaddaya want on it? A swipe of mayo. Pepper but no salt. —You got it. Roast beef on rye. You want lettuce on that? No. Just tomato and mayo. —Tomato and mayo. You got it. . . . Salt and pepper? No salt, just [...]

Valentines Slowjams Chapter VI

“The moment she responds, instead of caressing her mouth, suck inward as though you were trying to draw out the innards of an orange. If she knows of this kiss variation, your maid will act in the same way and withdraw the air from your mouth. In this fashion, in a very short while, the [...]

“Media hora de seleccion vinilos 100 por ciento colombian/mexico!! Atencion NYC nuevo mixtape Sonido Martines y DJ Rupture 1100 vs 2200 en venta en Tacos Zaragoza (14th & A)” The Burrito was the best around here. The old woman behind the counter called me papi. $8 burrito $8 Mix CD

Gold Panda

Which – has the wisest men undone – Doubt has the wisest – Emily Dickinson

Sirens at doorways on rocks in place of gutted rooms … motorific cyclones a bridge of garnet almost granite …. When you hear my words you will see them after coming home they leave me these palpable shadows that sparkle show their sides dance blow out candles grapple diced in sand Just now a magnet [...]

POETRY may not be a grand enough portal, and the lamps that light it may burn dim in drifting winds; but until a nobler one is built it should stand, and its little lights should show the way as they can. — Harriet Monroe, “These Five Years“

Not an owl on the bough, after all; but a patch of grey light forcing through fir. A light-bird, a bird-light. Retinal phantom. Or poem to my shortening sight. – John Fowles photo: tWalrus

But I will scorch this black world for it anyway Wet face and wild wind I told you all it would come This is a poem for you This is a poem for all of you Awful and quiet …. Writers make workshops Artists make hell To live in I make hell to live in [...]