#Americans #Jews #Women
My love is too much– it embarrasses you– blood, poems, babies, red needs that telephone from foreign countries,
After the teach-in we smeared the walls with our solidarity, looked left, & saw Marx among the angels,
Parachuting down through clouds shaped like whales & sharks, dolphins & penguins, pelicans & gulls,
You whom I hoped to reach by writ… you beyond the multicolored tangle of telephone wires, you with your white paper soul trampled in transit,
What is the central passion of a life? To please mummy & daddy? To find a home for their furniture… To found a family of one’s own,
People who live by the sea understand eternity. They copy the curves of the waves, their hearts beat with the tides, & the saltiness of their blood
Boswell– you old rake– I have tri… your style; but it is no use; my d… all between my selves: and though… make endless notes and jottings th… my memory– it is in vain– for in t…
"...a frozen memory, like any p… where nothing is missing, not even… and especially, nothingness..."… —Julio Cortázar, “Blow Up” Mirror-mad,
Could I unthink you, little heart, what would I do? throw you out with last night’s garbage,
Most beautiful of poisons, border-plant, wearing your small green cowl, little friar, little murderer, aconitine flows
Nobody believes in love– not even me. Love is the thing you wait to end.
In the glass-bottomed boat of our lives, we putter along gazing at the other world under the sea– that world of flickering
Next birthday I am thirty-six, & formed (for all intents & purposes) in tooth & claw.
Baby-witch, my daughter, my worship of the Goddess alone condemns you to the fire. . .
Knowing our lives a drowse towards death (attended by dogs & children) how can it not matter