Poem of the Day
Pos de chantar m’es pres talenz
By William IX of Aquitaine
I am William, who by nature needs to chant triste now, I’ll make
this song from it
I am William, who by nature needs to chant triste now, I’ll make
this song from it
the summer rolls up its black tongue: from inside the machine
I affirm my devotion to your ingenious application, allowing you to track my whereabouts across all devices.
The part / that flusters some, that flusters no one.
on the chair shining wet from the rain / still hung a black piece of laundry.
There’s a kind of transformation / That can happen on any day
Folded back through love / Trying not to be with but of
between the wardrobe and laundry rack / someone is ironing feathers and planets
but the cancer / is so available like so much isn’t—good air and tranquility, / space between sets of particles
That I should originate anything / was intolerable to me, / but I considered it, privately.
The man I loved wanted me in his bed, so I could tell him he was exceptional.