#Americans #Jews #Women
Letting the mind go, letting the pen, the breath, the movement of images in & ou… of the mouth go calm, go rhythmic
Books which are stitched up the ce… Books on the beach with sunglass-c… Books about food with pictures of… Books about baking bread with brow… Books about long-haired Frenchmen…
On a darkening planet speeding toward our death, we pierce a rosy cloud & hit clean air,
You gave me the child that seamed my belly & stitched up my life. You gave me: one book of love poem… five years of peace
All the boring tedious young men with dead eyes & dirty hair .… all the mad young men who hate the… all the squalling baby boys . . . have grown up
Your slit so like mine: the woman of it, the warm womanwide of thigh, & the comfort of it– knowing your nipples like mine,
I pass to the other side of the pa… —Pablo Neruda On the other side of the page where the last days go, where the lost poems go,
The lessons we learned here (fumbling with our lunchbags, handkerchiefs & secret cheeks of bubblegum) were graver than any
After the college reading, the eager students gather. They ask me
I sit in the black leather chair meditating on the plume of smoke that rises in the air, riffling the pages of my life
Out in the world, the child cries for the mother as the wound cries for salt as the lover cries for her unrequited lover
The man under the bed The man who has been there for yea… The man who waits for my floating… The man who is silent as dustballs… The man whose breath is the breath…
Endless duplication of lives and o… —Theodore Roethke I have known the imperial power of… the awesome indifference of recept… I have been intimidated by desk &a…
Most beautiful of poisons, border-plant, wearing your small green cowl, little friar, little murderer, aconitine flows
Because she wants to touch him, she moves away. Because she wants to talk to him, she keeps silent. Because she wants to kiss him,
