Summer (Erin).

Chlorine, cigarette smoke.

We stretch our limbs
in snappy pool water;
filled with black beetles and beaten moths.

Yellow hair in blue-green light.
Wet eyelashes and hard mouths.

(Five feet,
three feet,
ten feet,
drown).

We are learning to celebrate,
learning to spit.

Powdering our noses in stranger's bathrooms,
and skinny dipping with drunk boys
in Calvin Klein briefs.

I cry in your front seat often,
and drag on smoke stacks I'd rather bite in half.

Eleven pm and the radio whines,
while my cold arm dangles out the window.
While the black crow carries keys.
While the moth tries to swim with watery wings.

(Jewel of the South)

You know I don't know what to do with close relationships with anybody anymore - I don't know what to do with these things.

Jack Kerouac. 

(The Clothes Horse)

enough enough enough enough

(Rookie)

(Modern Hepburn)

(Rookie)

(Rookie)

(Miss Moss)

So home can fall apart and schools can fall apart, usually for childish reasons - and what have you got? A space wanderer named Nan. And that's ok. I'm a space wanderer named Kurt.


Kurt Vonnegut, in a letter to his daughter Nan.

(Rookie)

(Rookie)

(Modern Hepburn)

I'm content to not be loved.
Wanted is enough. hey! needed sometimes too.

Don't get blue. Don't get mean.
Don't get anything.

Just got to stop running out of options
and then calling that a choice.

(justerinhere)

I feel fine, but it seems highly improbable that I am fine.

Kurt Vonnegut

(The Sartorialist)

(leah bird)

(Rookie)

Hey, now, what's this thing we're all doing in this sad brown world?

Jack Kerouac

(Rookie)

At least I'm not as sad as I used to be.

(Rookie)

(Rookie)