#Americans #Jews #Women
For centuries we have lain like this, our warmths intermingled, our hearts beating the same two-step,
You are the first muse who came to… The others began & ended with… or a glance or a kiss between stan… the others strode away in the poin… or were kicked out by the stiletto…
He says he is a perfect poet. He lives alone, with his perfect m… & sometimes they don’t even sp… So perfectly do they ‘communicate.… He lives alone, his greatest pleas…
Because he dreams of seeding the w… his eyes bite She looks He looks away He is snow-blind from staring at her breasts
I am in love with my womb & jealous of it. I cover it tenderly with a little pink hat (a sort of yarmulke)
You sleep in the darkness, you with the back I love & the gift of sleeping through my noisy nights of poetry. I have taken other men into my tho…
On line at the supermarket waiting for the tally, the blue numerals tattooed on the white skins
Knowing our lives a drowse towards death (attended by dogs & children) how can it not matter
The cover of the book is astral violet, & within it are poems, most of them
This is the long tunnel of wanting… Its walls are lined with remembere… wet & red as the inside of you… full & juicy as your probing t… warm as your belly against mine,
Sometimes the poem doesn’t want to come; it hides from the poet like a playful cat who has run
On the first night of the full moon, the primeval sack of ocean broke, & I gave birth to you
You gave me a rose last time we met. I told myself if it bloomed our love would bloom,
You open to me a little, then grow afraid and close again, a small boy
You-the purest pleasure of my life, the split pit that proves the ripeness of the fruit,