today’s Ernest Hemingway’s birthday

since no one ever talks about his poems. which there werent many of. and when they do, they talk shit, we will stoke you with one of his war poems.

“Killed Piave”

Desire and
All the sweet pulsing aches
And gentle hurtings
That were you,
Are gone into the sullen dark.
Now in the night you come unsmiling
To lie with me
A dull, cold, rigid bayonet
On my hot-swollen, throbbing soul

July 8, 1918