gossamer

‘Manifesto’, by Christopher Logue

An Oar for an Oar

without you I am udderless

an oar for an oar

an awh yeah under a

muffled pillow embrace

sound of stifled drums in the

hintergrund my

motherland is worthless even

the people don’t have names

now that new seeds have been

sown and here i am

alone repeating the

same old remedy

so restlessly

- Jenny Browne, Sept ‘15

Paris Review - A Sign, Philip Levine

‘These are all
I remembered when I bloomed’

(Source: theparisreview.org)

(via https://soundcloud.com/jumpswim/fall-out-of-love-w-ninna-lundberg-1?utm_source=soundcloud&utm_campaign=share&utm_medium=tumblr)

(Source: SoundCloud / JUMPSWIM ❀)

h o m e s i c

i’m sick of this soil

take me to the city

i want to be knocked

flat out by muted

rush hour buses broken

bicyles crumpled in heaps

by the road i want the

smog and the smut and

concrete septic tanks

all the fumigated fucked

forgotten souls fearless

and scared of wanting

how can you turn it all

back around tell me

how to turn this all

around

- Jenny Browne, 1/9/15

(Source: living-radiantly)

“The only thing for certain is how complicated it all is, like string full of knots. It’s all there but hard to find the beginning and impossible to fathom the end. The best you can do is admire the cat’s cradle, and maybe knot it up a bit more.”

— from Oranges are not the only fruit, Jeanette Winterson. Just finished reading this masterpiece today. Gorgeous indeed.

(Source: facebook.com, via frogtogod)

(via https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1pTutGjlIWI)

(Source: youtube.com)

big sky

(for JKB)

I can still feel your hair
under these mountains of air

can anyone really be sure
of anything anymore or how many more
seconds are slipping away

how does Heaven look today kid?

cause I hope it’s near-perfect
still seen through child’s eyes
the blurry warmth of the womb
into a silk-lined catacomb

fifteen years is a long time
for a solo mountain climb
or to address what happened to the
support team for our heavy heads
weary from life on a cold backseat
in ‘99

the base heart murmur hums in the
split where river becomes sea
and you no longer shelter me

ah but who’s to blame? no use
pointing fingers

this is old news after all

between us we could have been big
enough and brave enough though, surely

steadily, there’s still time for
sailing back upstream

- Jenny Browne, 20/8/15