<body><script type="text/javascript"> function setAttributeOnload(object, attribute, val) { if(window.addEventListener) { window.addEventListener('load', function(){ object[attribute] = val; }, false); } else { window.attachEvent('onload', function(){ object[attribute] = val; }); } } </script> <div id="navbar-iframe-container"></div> <script type="text/javascript" src="https://apis.google.com/js/platform.js"></script> <script type="text/javascript"> gapi.load("gapi.iframes:gapi.iframes.style.bubble", function() { if (gapi.iframes && gapi.iframes.getContext) { gapi.iframes.getContext().openChild({ url: 'https://www.blogger.com/navbar.g?targetBlogID\x3d1464674134692991628\x26blogName\x3dall+the+soarings+of+my+mind.\x26publishMode\x3dPUBLISH_MODE_BLOGSPOT\x26navbarType\x3dBLUE\x26layoutType\x3dCLASSIC\x26searchRoot\x3dhttps://thespian922.blogspot.com/search\x26blogLocale\x3den_US\x26v\x3d2\x26homepageUrl\x3dhttp://thespian922.blogspot.com/\x26vt\x3d7852942249818192662', where: document.getElementById("navbar-iframe-container"), id: "navbar-iframe" }); } }); </script>

porcelain.

Stamped: 7.5.09

there are porcelain moments
when everything feels perfect.
when we desire the cycle of repetition.
there are moments when nothing
ought to change, when the
ambivalent mixture of twilight and sorrow
is sealed out of this vacuum.
every second strung on a loop
to make a bracelet,
a souvenir.
and those porcelain moments,
decorous and rare,
they're always ruined in the moment
when they touch the real air.

« Home
see-saw. »
The wallpaper of a broken home. »
penny for the old guy. »
narcotic visions. »
the negative aesthetic. »
Kodak. »
Fog. »
The Poet's Descent. »
Anthem for the boy on the Arlington train. »
A fragment? Of something? »

You can leave your response or bookmark this post to del.icio.us by using the links below.
Comment | Bookmark | Go to end