Reblogged from the-iridescence
lunarlane
A virtual collage of LOLs with tidbits of life from a small town Iowa boy trying to make something of his life.
rivulets of linguistic gold
pour from weather-stained lips like aged wine.
sepia vignettes sway to the tune of an oaken victrola
inviting me into a deeper lull
the constant knitting, knotting of the yarns
tugs at a skein in its weary wicker basket until it doubles over
granting another span
perpetual knitting
always knitting
always. the same. knitting.
I watch as a ’96 Buick devolves into a model T
as the brushed chrome kitchen sink becomes a shallow tin pail
as the knitting is still the same knitting
the smell of cigarettes and Avon perfume
replaced by Folgers Black lingers on a puff of dust
the feel of authenticity replaced by plastic
fingers like spindles twist yarns. knotting. still knitting.
wait. was it thirty-four or thirty-five?
it was the year we bayed at the moon
I call for more spirits but we can’t get drunk tonight
a timer somewhere is set to “soft beep”
it provokes us to continue. knitting
by Brett Burk
GGGGAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!!!! FUCK ME!!!!!! SOOOOOOO GOOOOOOOOODDDDD!!!!! GAH!
(Source: chillygifs, via matamacue)
