Beach Pebble


Nobody knows you.
You don’t know yourself.
And I, who am half in love with you,
What am I in love with?
My own imaginings?

D. H. Lawrence, from “The Evening Land,” Complete Poems of D. H. Lawrence (William Heinemann, 1957)

(Source: journalofanobody, via journalofanobody)

Tom Waits & Crystal Gayle

—Broken Bicycles


Tom Waits & Crystal Gayle - Broken Bicycles

In a description hollowed out of hollow-bright,
The artificer of subjects still half night.

It matters, because everything we say
Of the past is description without place, a cast

Of the imagination, made in sounds;
And because what we say of the future must portend,

Be alive with its own seemings, seeming to be
Like rubies reddened by rubies reddening.

Wallace Stevens, closing lines to section V of “Description Without Place,” The Collected Poems of Wallace Stevens (Vintage Books, 1990)

(Source: apoetreflects, via journalofanobody)