Cold Hands
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Poem 9
To think a flower is to see it and smell it
and to eat a fruit is to know its meaning.
That’s why on a warm day
I feel sad because I enjoy it so much,
and stretching out on the grass,
and closing my hot eyes,
I feel my whole body lying stretched out on reality,
I know the truth and I am happy.
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divided
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Berounka River, Karlstejn
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Naufrage dans le miroir.
Chaque jour nous sombrons un peu plus
dans son eau lisse.
Jusqu'à ce qu'un certain jour
l'excès du naufrage
brise du dedans le miroir.
Roberto Juarroz
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Dark Matter
by Alex Dimitrov
The living looking for eternity
don’t know eternity is brief.
A favorite thing about being alive
or other questions no one asks me,
and it would be knowing people.
Knowledge through time.
What’s the name of that hour in the day
where no matter our planned futures
everything is full of nothing
as the world is full of people
without reason other than small chance.
You are tired and most singular
in the middle of the afternoon
when seeing you on the street
(and not in a bedroom) reminds me you’re real;
allowing me to begin the rest of this poem.
Because life isn’t enough
which is unbelievable to the fog, sea,
or anything lucky to be
without our incurable consciousness.
Vanishing. A once orange leaf that’s been
left in a book. The silver handles
of the casket as it’s lowered into the earth.
People’s mistakes. Dark matter.
The sky just before evening.
One boat in the Atlantic.
A handful of balloons going all the way up.
The few places in the world where it’s raining
as you read this. As I write this.
As I read this out loud and somewhere
what is expected does not return.
The last lamp in an old house.
How I’m not sure if I’d like to end on an image
of someone turning it off, turning it on.
Silences. Between the waves and beneath them.
People’s mistakes. People’s mistakes.
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Oceanball
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No comment
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Everything you’ve learned in school as “obvious” becomes less and less obvious as you begin to study the universe. For example, there are no solids in the universe. There’s not even a suggestion of a solid. There are no absolute continuums. There are no surfaces. There are no straight lines.
Buckminster Fuller
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Where the Statues of Paris were sent to Die
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“At the very beginning fantasy is not a substitute for reality but the first method of finding it.”
— Adam Phillips
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https://www.flickr.com/photos/transparessencia/
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Still from Le Sang d'un Poète (the blood of a poet) — Jean Cocteau (1930)
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