Water City

We Live Young

You Don't Know What Love Is

You don’t know what love is
but you know how to raise it in me
like a dead girl winched up from a river.
How to wash off the sludge, the stench of our past.
How to start clean.
This love even sits up and blinks; amazed,
she takes a few shaky steps.
Any day now she’ll try to eat solid food.
She’ll want to get into a fast car, one low to the ground, and drive
to some cinderblock shithole in the desert
where she can drink and get sick and then
dance in nothing but her underwear.
You know where she’s headed, you know she’ll wake up
with an ache she can’t locate and no money
and a terrible thirst.
So to hell with your warm hands sliding inside my shirt
and your tongue down my throat
like an oxygen tube.
Cover me in black plastic. Let the mourners through.

Kim Addonizio

Alone

“We are all alone, born alone, die alone, and -- in spite of True Romance magazines -- we shall all someday look back on our lives and see that, in spite of our company, we were alone the whole way. I do not say lonely -- at least, not all the time -- but essentially, and finally, alone. This is what makes your self-respect so important, and I don't see how you can respect yourself if you must look in the hearts and minds of others for your happiness.”
― Hunter S. Thompson,

Glemham Hall

We Were Wanderers On A Prehistoric Earth

Tempest

Walking The Edge

Life should be lived on the edge of life. You have to exercise rebellion: to refuse to tape yourself to rules, to refuse your own success, to refuse to repeat yourself, to see every day, every year, every idea as a true challenge - and then you are going to live your life on a tightrope.

- Philippe Petit

Hope