#Americans #Jews #Women
After the teach-in we smeared the walls with our solidarity, looked left, & saw Marx among the angels,
After the first astounding rush, after the weeks at the lake, the crystal, the clouds, the water… the snow breaking under our boots… & the long mornings in bed. .…
I sit at home at my desk alone as I used to do on many sunday afternoons when you came back to me,
I love to go to sleep, When bed takes me like a lover wrapping my limbs in cool linen, soothing the fretfulness
Out in the world, the child cries for the mother as the wound cries for salt as the lover cries for her unrequited lover
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,
You-the purest pleasure of my life, the split pit that proves the ripeness of the fruit,
He still wears the glass skin of c… Under his hands, the stones turn m… His eyes are knives. Who froze the ground to his feet? Who locked his mouth into an horiz…
These beautifully grown men. Thes… Look at them looking! They’re overdrawn on all accounts… & they’ve missed (for the hundredth time) the expre…
I had pegged you as protégé, adoptee, someone I could save. The last thing I needed
Baby-witch, my daughter, my worship of the Goddess alone condemns you to the fire. . .
Most beautiful of poisons, border-plant, wearing your small green cowl, little friar, little murderer, aconitine flows
The experience of fear is not an o… —J. Krishnamurti In dreams I descend into the cave of my past: a child with a morgue-tag
Exploring each other’s depths, that surge of connection which makes the world seem sane,
Testing the soul’s mettle, the frost heaves holes in the roads to the heart, the glass forest