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The whole town was ripe with salt and haunted by the action of the tides. At night it filled with boisterous drunk men.

Mieko Kawakami, Sam Bett, • Breasts and Eggs

poetry

Mildred • 1 card

This Be The Verse BY PHILIP LARKIN They fuck you up, your mum and dad. They may not mean to, but they do. They fill you with the faults they had And add some extra, just for you. But they were fucked up in their tu... See more

La mort a l’odeur du dedans du corps projeté hors du vase sacré. À l’air libre, le dedans du corps de tout être humain ou animal se corrompt. De l’homme le plus riche au plus pauvre, de la femme la plus belle à la plus laide, de l’animal le plus sage au plus sot, du plus puissant au plus faible. La mort, c’est l’odeur décomposée du dedans du corps,

David Diop • Frère d'âme - International Booker Prize 2021 (Cadre rouge) (French Edition)

jack kerouac

Michael Dean • 1 card

My work piles up,

I falter with disease.

Time rushes toward me—

it has no brakes. Still,

the radishes are good this year.

Run them through butter,

add a little salt.

—Jim Harrison, “Zona”

> 185: Run them through butter

How to Be a Poet by Wendell Berry | Poetry Magazine

Wendell Berry poetryfoundation.org

Classic Literature

Juan Orbea and • 2 cards

When we got home, it was almost dark. Our neighbor waited on the walk. “I’m sorry, I have bad news,” he said. “Your cat, the gray black one, is dead. I found him by the garage an hour ago.” “Thank you,” I said, “for letting us know.” We dug a hole in the flower bed, The lilac bushes overhead, Where this cat loved to lie in spring And roll in the di