tired glamour like a magnolia leaf fallen from its tree. it is losing its velvety whiteness, starting to crinkle dry at the edges, but it still smells sweet, like the pasadena streets of my childhood.
Wednesday, July 1, 2015
Tuesday, June 30, 2015
Fuck It: Both Soiled Hands
"And the light crept up between the shutters
And you heard the sparrows in the gutters,
You had such a vision of the street
As the street hardly understands;
Sitting along the bed’s edge, where
You curled the papers from your hair,
Or clasped the yellow soles of feet
In the palms of both soiled hands."
t.s. eliot
t.s. eliot
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