配图 / Shinkiru

配图 / Shinkiru Poem Not to Be Read at Your Wedding You ask me for a poem about love in place of a wedding present, trying to save me money.For three nights I’ve lain under glow-in-the-dark stars I’ve stuck to the ceiling over my bed.I’ve listened to the songs of the galaxy.Well, Carmen, I would rather give you your third set of steak knives than tell you what I know.Let me find you some other, store-bought present.Don’t make me warn you of stars, how they see us from that distance as miniature and breakable from the bride who tops the wedding cake to the Mary on Pinto dashboards holding her ripe, red heart in her hands. Beth Ann Fennelly #诗歌

配图 / Gordan Hunt

配图 / Gordan Hunt To the Sea Sometimes when you start to ramble or rather when you feel you are starting to ramble you will say Well, now I’m rambling though I don’t think you ever are. And if you ever are I don’t really care. And not just because I and everyone really at times falls into our own unspooling which really I think is a beautiful softness of being human, trying to show someone else the color of all our threads, wanting another to know everything in us we are trying to show them but in the specific, in the specific of you here in this car that you are driving and in which I am sitting beside you with regards to you and your specific mouth parting to give way to the specific sweetness that is the water of your voice tumbling forthlike I said I don’t ever really mind how much more you might keep speaking as it simply means I get to hear you speak for longer. What was a stream now a river. Anis Mojgani #诗歌

配图 / Andrew Macara

配图 / Andrew Macara Children's Song We live in our own world, A world that is too small For you to stoop and enter Even on hands and knees, The adult subterfuge. And though you probe and pry With analytic eye, And eavesdrop all our talk With an amused look, You cannot find the centre Where we dance, where we play, Where life is still asleep Under the closed flower, Under the smooth shell Of eggs in the cupped nest That mock the faded blue Of your remoter heaven. R. S. Thomas #诗歌

配图 / Magnus

配图 / Magnus Beirut, My Birthmark Beirut, my birthmark What came with you, Beirut？ Bullets before my mother's milk Beirut, you are under my skin, split bit by bit You melt into sunset on blistered rooftops It hurts to touch you, Beirut You are a lesson I will never learn It hurts to love you, Beirut But I still knock at your door at 4:00 a.m. With the neon lights in your neighborhood are dwindling when the political chants in your square are soothed I will stay outside your door I know you will never open for me Beirut, I kissed your cracked sidewalks And slept huddled against your bullet ridden walls You and I, it's a love story for the books Dima Mikayel Matta #诗歌

Living Cannot Be Institutionalized ～

Living Cannot Be Institutionalized ～ Compromise with institutional influence is usually a fool’s bargain. If you do not wish to institutionalize your mind and heart within the limitations of school, consider also questioning classic love relationships, transportation norms, and other things people take for granted. Accompany your second look at schools with a second look at all things, all the time. Let us not cede the responsibilities we have to one another to institutions. More and more of us consider it reasonable and virtuous to evade being diagnosed, cured, educated, socialized, informed, entertained, housed, married, counseled, certified, publicized, and protected according to the needs instilled in us by our professional guardians. More and more people are finding that the freedom to resist integration into many of our modern systems is sacred to them.

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