Sublime
An inspiration engine for ideas
Without wind to move the branches, the shadows looked like permanent stains, destined to remain imprinted on the pavement forever.
Jay Rubin • The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle: A Novel (Vintage International)
The bus makes believe
no one cried into their hands and smeared
that grief onto its walls. The walls
will keep the fingerprints a secret
until the sheen of oils glows by moon.
Rows of ghosts come forth to sing.
no one cried into their hands and smeared
that grief onto its walls. The walls
will keep the fingerprints a secret
until the sheen of oils glows by moon.
Rows of ghosts come forth to sing.
Unpeopled Eden
“Palace at 4 A.M.,” I
William Maxwell • So Long, See You Tomorrow: Virtage International Edition (Vintage International)
I got up off my chair and looked out at the streets of West Hollywood splayed beneath me, radiating away from the canyons, whose crevices are always the color of dark iced tea. I stretched
Sarah Hoover • The Motherload: Episodes from the Brink of Motherhood
out into the night, with the statue of the bird staring off at the sky, as always. No lights shone inside May