In the inertia of liberated gestures,
(not even the shadows will rise)
in the silence of an unlocked scream
(let the echo sleep in peace),
Prometheus, who no longer has eyes,
(they didn’t last to see the rust)
lies compliant, welded
(the mountain of doubt holds him)
to the Promethean torture.
He smothers the fire unneeded by the gods
and rips out his own liver,
in accord with the myth.
— by Jerzy Ficowski, translated by Yala Korwin
Here are some dogs enjoying Popsicles.
instead of counting sheep at night, count the number of times you can repeat “my life is dope and i do dope shit” before drifting into dreams full of kanye level self-confidence
jovellyism: Bird Point, March 2014.
For Pandora, Again
I was stunned
when you held open
The whirl of wind
twisted us around, plague-ridden
For repressed urges, sustenance
Stunned by venomous fumes
In that lored penumbra—
Until, again, you
shut it close, with startled hands
That gaping, gaping mouth
of primal horror
By then, they had turned everything
Only under the shut lid
Man staked his all on it
and stood, kept standing
— Sidhveswar Sen, translated by Ron D.K. Banerjer
It’s official, I’m in love with the Cascades.
Mt. Baker State Park, North Cascades, Washington.