Monday, July 25, 2011

the serpent's breath.

letter to my grandmother.


Found a good use for my giant bag of buttons...homemade stationary for my penpalz, Mamaw included! There's just nothing quite like getting a special piece of mail among all the postal bullshit. I'm also dreaming of my new apartment in LA...hence, the room inspiration photos.

And finally, a poem from one of my favorite mustached pals, Lewis Watts. 

I have no cold-
I am so bored of heat.
It's all I am-
I am the desert wind,
The serpent's breath,
The Arab's beard,
The gaping maw of your unsleep,
Your bones inside an oven-
I am the single orange eye
Above your closet door.

But cold!
Cold, cold-
Cold is a hexagon snowflake:
It doesn't follow,
It only falls.
Cold is a Christmas gift to your knees,
The yeti's teeth,
The Eskimo’s brow,
A raindrop in an open palm,
Cold is the blue light,
The angel's tear,
And visible breath-
Yes, and yes, yes, yes, yes-
Cold is the night of secrets
You wish you would've kept.

And I?
I have no cold,
So here I lie,
Just waiting for the heat to die.

-Lewis Edward Watts


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