LINKDING

<blockquote>If you want to meet superheroes there are plenty of places to go bars and clubs and that one diner down on fifth and news stations of course always those so that’s where she goes she’ll be the secretary or the office assistant she’ll be the person stocking the vending machine</blockquote>

<blockquote>there was a time when i, viciously in love with you, started believing that there was a being, a living conductor of our feelings, like a—a fairy, i suppose, winged, tiny, invisible to the human eye but wondrously fast and glittering,</blockquote>

<blockquote>Each night, her mother speaks to her out of the fire: come to me, my daughter. Come into the flames. And the Cinder Girl, the one they call Dirty Ella, even the housekeeper, even the kitchen maid, steps into the fireplace. </blockquote>

<blockquote>It's that time of year again When we are done with winter But winter isn't done with us.</blockquote>

<blockquote>The one thing we owe posterity And it is a tiny thing, The very least we can do, (And yet I fear we may fail to reach even this low bar,) The one simple thing, as we shape our time, And the future we will not see, Is that when they read about us, about our time, They will not find it ludicrous on the face of it To imagine that we might have been happy.</blockquote>

<blockquote>I was five years old when I began to awaken before dawn to watch the first beam of sunlight coax the green wallpaper awake the paisley pattern writhing the way a cat quivers in a leonine stretch</blockquote>

<blockquote>Listen, you who would be queen: What do you know of how to rule?</blockquote>

<blockquote>It feels like whenever I need to boil the wool of bat the sink is clogged. Or you forget to cover the ram’s blood overnight and the whole spell is ruined.</blockquote>

<blockquote>9. The explosion cradles her gently, weightless, so loud all is silent, the swaddle of electric pepper compressing like a mother’s heartbeat. 8. Is this when—</blockquote> ➤ I don't think I actually understand this poem, but you know, I also don't think that really matters in my appreciation of it

<blockquote>her grandmother called her from the playground “yes, ma’am” “i want chu to learn how to make rolls” said the old woman proudly</blockquote>

<blockquote>My mother’s letters are lost to me. I cannot read the language they are written in. My mother tries to teach me, long ago, turning our scarred kitchen table first into a desk, then into a jail. “Look here,” she says, “See how the word for heart is at the heart of the word for love?</blockquote>

<blockquote>Do not taste his magnetosphere, his tilted manipulations of hapless particles. Do not behold his dusty rings, their shepherd moons, their dark arcs.</blockquote>

<blockquote>Open with an invitation to the little asteroid, a private appointment with the planet Earth:</blockquote>

<blockquote>The diameter of the bomb was thirty centimeters and the diameter of its effective range about seven meters, with four dead and eleven wounded.</blockquote>

<blockquote>who has a mother? I say, all babies but also: boards, ships, lodes, vinegar, sourdough</blockquote>

<blockquote>Books are the real, the constant love, the friend that's always there For solace, and for real escape, for stories you can share,</blockquote>

<blockquote>Alone at the foot of the crucifix Tears burning in her eyes And sorrow like a ton of bricks Watching while her son dies.</blockquote> ➤ pov of the mother of one of the thieves crucified beside Jesus

<blockquote>This is the way it was in Germany As changes came inexorably worse By increments, and creeping like a curse "God damn those fascists? Where'd I put my key?"</blockquote>

<blockquote>Dis (tance that shatters to splinters of near) In (coming moments divided by fear) Ter (ribble burning of ablative shields) Gra (y as the stormclouds of flickering fields) Tion (ting the power we need to survive)</blockquote> ➤ Author's note: <blockquote>This is a crude translation of an alien form of poetry/song that I made up. The idea is that the first syllable would be sung suspended under the rest of the line by one voice, while another sings the rest. Each stanza consists of one word made up of the first syllables in each line -- I've gone with the spelling of the main word, which is a little odd when it means "shimmering" starts with "ti" but there you go. This poem describes crashlanding a ship made for space on a planet with an atmosphere.</blockquote>

<blockquote>John Argentine, magician, is doctor to dead princes, Trained, like the best, in Padua, his fine Italian hand Kept in a silver box, it writes in delicate italics Copying his magic texts and shaking on the sand.</blockquote> ➤ author's note: <blockquote>(If I say it's all true, you won't believe me. But -- well, I was reading Frank Klaasen's The Transformation of Magic, and John Argentine was discussed, and there was a summary of his career -- Padua, Princes in Tower, Prince Arthur, Provost of King's College Cambridge -- and then in the next paragraph it said he had a fine Italian hand. It's more than anyone could bear not to write a poem about a fine Italian hand!)</blockquote>

<blockquote>Where are the eagles and trumpets? Where are the thighs of Corinna? These Geats(1) are all hairy and warlike And drink while demanding their dinner!</blockquote>

<blockquote>Who could possibly believe in intelligent design While actually living in a body? This miracle of hodge-podge cludges, Amazing it works at all!</blockquote>

<blockquote>Where were we where the twisted trees Arched open, and we were in the light, Suddenly, blinking? It must have been afternoon And it was Italy because the pillars  Led down to an archway, framing a statue.</blockquote>

<blockquote>Patriotism did not survive being gassed in the trenches. It is a shellshocked zombie, Lurching forward, hand on heart, muttering "Dulce est" but can't remember what.</blockquote>

<blockquote>1 They never show her washing diapers. Made man, made flesh, includes digestion. Mary gently changing His diaper would make a great picture. Motherhood isn't only the moment when the angel calls.</blockquote>

<blockquote>Was it this thin before, When I raced through to the end In a single breath? Did I guess motivation Where none is given, None implied?</blockquote>

<blockquote>We find them sometimes, drifting at sea or maybe just off the coast, vessels without captains, not a soul, except that of the boats</blockquote>

<blockquote>You guys, I have a probe! Look at my probe!</blockquote>

<blockquote>The god was a god of dreams. My mother was a good listener. She heard the dream of the steam engine and our town was the first to build a railway, along the river from the town hall to the church. It took seven minutes and we could all ride it on Sunday afternoons. Later, everyone had that dream. But my mother was the first.</blockquote>

<blockquote>the girl found the fairies in the crawlspace below her house where slants of light illuminated how they fluttered about and spun webs strong enough to snare mice</blockquote>