Goethe on white: “the simplest, brightest, first, opaque occupation of space.”

Kirsten on Goethe on white: I disagree.

The colors on the walls are a soundtrack. I move into each room and I am in a different song and another scene is possible. In the apartment I am moving to, I will not play music loud and I will not paint the walls. I will live in a space unsuited to my vibrations.

The azaleas here are shriveled and scattered through the grass, the rhododendrons and peonies lording their pinks. I never knew flower names. The frilly words seemed pseudonyms--chosen for professions of which old-fashioned girls were ashamed: actor, stripper, novelist.

…color can exercise enormous influence over the body as a physical organism. -Kandinsky

Naturally, practice is not preceded but followed by theory. -Josef Albers

No child can understand why dandelion is a weed.

In the rosebush beside the sidedoor, a robin is making a space for a family.

I need yoga, I need ballet, I need mindful walks, I need time each day to calibrate my somatic being with the part of me that feels it exists from head-up and wrist-down.

I am riveted by a book whose only plot so far as I can tell is apocalypse…

…This is how your virginity
is taken from you. You get too hungry and then
you kill…

Does anyone wait well? Is this a skill one can learn… because with endless practice, I have not mastered it.

Marathon March Madness. Pisces Poems. Dreamy.

I do hope I become soon brave
enough to husband my twins, monstering
a poet-agonist such as the world
has never read…

It’s all you can do. The world is always
behind you, the catastrophe of time…

- Gregory Crosby

I wanted to get through to the bloody heart of the book, even if I had to dig with a chewed-up plastic spoon…

I have been swinging between poles of gratitude and forlorn-ness. What a strange word, old-fashioned, and yet forlorn with its rhyme with torn and lostness is the word that comes to mind. Little Bo Peep was forlorn. America is her.

I stay between get and grief. Radiance
is a dream I had of light. Even now
the days are shaving themselves down, thinner
and thinner, a prepubescent autumn…