Fuck the pain away 🍑
17.02.2026 10:21
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Fuck the pain away 🍑
Run for the (gender) border; arrive at its shimmering; see that it is just an illusion; pass through the willowy membrane and emerge changed and yet the same.
whyyyy did i jist read any of that omfg
Arright poets — let’s dial our electeds and use our words. (If you can even get through today — one of our senator’s lines was down, presumably from being overwhelmed with calls.)
We’ve all got that apocalyptic wish within our cold hearts
The hottest country is actually Burkina Faso. Very hot there. Of course we’ll all be pretty toasty soon!
Truly will not vote for any @democrats.org who don’t vow to prosecute this administration.
Anyone else’s Mom/Grandma obsessed with this game in the 90’s?
youtu.be/5aRN2yj9qm0?...
Seems like we need Anthology 4, just for tye sake of keeping up
will there be a Teatles Anthology? 🫖
I’m editing an anthology for the first time and wow it’s going to be difficult to select poems. so many insanely good poems. Honestly restoring my faith in the world a little bit, at the end of a rough year.
LOL - gonna use this in my Rhet Comp course to teach logical fallacies. We’re so cooked, as the kids say.
“Climate Goals Are Becoming More Realistic. That’s Good News.” www.nytimes.com/2025/12/27/o...
the Calvin pissing to Q-Anon pipeline
"Crimble Medley" by @calebnichols.bsky.social is a perfect listen for Fab fans today.
calebnichols.bandcamp.com/track/crimbl...
JAMES MERRILL CHRISTMAS TREE From loes torn hamin Had been fed, looked after, kept still, Meant, I knew— of course I knew - That it would be only a matter of weeks, That there was nothing more to do. Warmly they took me in, made much of me, The point from the start was to keep my spirits up. I could assent to that. For honestly, It did help to be wound in jewels, to send Their colors flashing forth from vents in the deep Fragrant sables that cloaked me head to foot. Over me then they wove a spell of shining — Purple and silver chains, eavesdripping tinsel, Amulets, milagros: software of silver, A heart, a little girl, a Model T Two staring eyes. Then angels, trumpets, BUD and BEA (The children's names) in clownlike capitals, Somewhere a music box whose tiny song Played and replayed I ended before long By loving. And in shadow behind me, a primitive IV To keep the show going. Yes, yes, what lay ahead Was clear: the stripping, the cold street, my chemicals Plowed back into the Earth for lives to come — No doubt a blessing, a harvest, but one that doesn't bear, Now or ever, dwelling upon. To have grown so thin. Needles and bone. The little boy's hands meeting About my spine. The mother's voice: Holding up wonderfully! No dread. No bitterness. The end beginning. Today's Dusk room aglow For the last time With candlelight. Faces love-lit, Gifts underfoot. Still to be so poised, so Receptive. Still to recall, to praise.
James Merril’s poem “Christmas Tree,” written while he was dying of AIDS. 1995.
✨ Still Open: Laureate Prize! But not much longer! ✨
Submissions are open October 1–December 31 at Small Harbor Publishing. We’re thrilled to welcome work from writers of all backgrounds.
🏆 Judged by Traci Brimhall
📬 Submit at smallharborpublishing.com
“Same as the others, O’Neill. The flippers, the fishbowl, the frog, the lights, the armor. ... Just one question remains: Is this the work of our guy, or a copycat?”
“Same as the others, O’Neill. The
flippers, the fishbowl, the frog, the lights, the armor. ... Just one question
remains: Is this the work of our guy, or a copycat?”
The “Al” Word
Queer As Al
Queer Al for the Straight Al
“Queer” Al Yancovic
Someday, my prince will cum.
My department is hiring! Please help me spread the word and send this to people who may be interested. jobs.calpoly.edu/en-us/job/55...
As it’s @bandcamp.com friday, here’s a special deal: buy my new record, and I’ll send you a test pressing of your choice, of any of my last three albums, whilst supplies last. Today only! calebnichols.bandcamp.com/album/stone-...
“Just as I come to know a thing it’s gone again.”
A new poem by D. A. Powell. https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2025/11/24/senescence-d-a-powell-poem
So History of Sound is a ‘queer’ story written by a straight iowa mfa grad and acted by two straight boys… the queerbaiting is stunning. that scene in the fountain? lol. Call me by MY name.
apropost (of nothing)
Mayyyybe in late 2026 😁
