(no subject)

[3butterflies.livejournal.com]

A thousand thousand times

Under cover of footsteps returning at evening to a tower inhabited by mysterious symbols
Eleven in number the snow that melts as I grasp it in my hand
This snow I love has dreams and am one of those dreams
I who grant to day and night as much youth as they need
They are two gardens where my hands walk with nothing to do and while the eleven symbols rest I share a love which is a copper and silver mechanism in the hedges
I'm one of the most delicate gears in earthly love and earthly love hides the other loves the way the symbols hide the spirit from me
A lost stab whizzes past the walker's ear I've stripped the sky like a marvelous bed
My arm hangs from the sky with a rosary of stars descending day by day whose first bead will disappear into the sea instead of my vivid colors
Soon there won't be anything but snow on the sea
The symbols appear at the door they are eleven different colors and their respective dimensions would make you die of pity
One of them has to bend down and cross its arms to enter the tower I hear another one on fire in a prosperous region and this one on horseback riding industry
The uncommon mountainous industry like the wild donkey that feeds on trout
The hair the long dappled hair characterizes the symbol wearing the doubly ogival buckler beware of the idea rolled along by mountain streams
My construction my beautiful construction page by page house insanely glazed in the wide open sky the wide open earth it's a fault in the rock suspended by rings from the curtain rod of the world it's a metallic curtain that comes down on divine inscriptions that you don't know how to read
The symbols have never affected anyone but me I am born in the infinite disorder of prayers
I live and die from one end of this line to the other that strangely measured line which connects my heart to the ledge of your window through it I communicate with all the prisoners in the world

--André Breton

(no subject)

[2much-estrogen.livejournal.com]

"Dear Man Whose Marriage I Wrecked" by Jeffrey McDaniel

If it's any consolation, when your wife took me
in her mouth, I closed my eyes and pretended

I was a piece of wedding cake. I was the instigator,
bringing her flowers so often her co-workers

nicknamed me carnation hands. At night, I'd look
at the stars and slither my petals through her hair.

It was like were on Mars-- me staring over
her skull at one moon, her gazing at another.

What I'm really trying to say is I tumbled into her
arms like a thousand reluctant dominoes.

I mean, isn't it odd-- how you can buy a lap dance,
phone sex, or blowjob in a snap, but can't

pay a person a dollar to just sit next to you
on a park bench and simply hold your hand?