#AmericanWriters
On the first page of my dreambook It’s always evening In an occupied country. Hour before the curfew. A small provincial city.
To find clues where there are none… That’s my job now, I said to the Dictionary on my desk. The world… My window has grown illegible, And so has the clock on the wall.
Millions were dead; everybody was… I stayed in my room. The Presiden… Spoke of war as of a magic love po… My eyes were opened in astonishmen… In a mirror my face appeared to me
You must come to them sideways In rooms webbed in shadow, Sneak a view of their emptiness Without them catching A glimpse of you in return.
The brightly-painted horse Had a boy’s face, And four small wheels Under his feet, Plus a long string
There was a melon fresh from the g… So ripe the knife slurped As it cut it into six slices. The children were going back to sc… Their mother, passing out paper pl…
Shoes, secret face of my inner lif… Two gaping toothless mouths, Two partly decomposed animal skins Smelling of mice-nests. My brother and sister who died at…
With only his dim lantern To tell him where he is And every time a mountain Of fresh corpses to load up Take them to the other side
Your mother carried you Out of the smoking ruins of a buil… And set you down on this sidewalk Like a doll bundled in burnt rags, Where you now stood years later
Fingers in an overcoat pocket. Fingers sticking out of a black leather glove. The nails chewed raw. One play is called “Thieves’ Market,” another “Night in a Dime Museum.” The fingers w...
St. John of the Cross wore dark g… As he passed me on the street. St. Theresa of Avila, beautiful a… Turned her back on me. “Soulmate,” they hissed. “It’s hi…
Where the path to the lake twists… A puff of dust, the kind bare feet… Is what I saw in the dying light, Night swooping down everywhere els… A low branch heavy with leaves
We don’t even take time To come up for air. We keep our mouths full and busy Eating bread and cheese And smooching in between.
O crows circling over my head and… I admit to being, at times, Suddenly, and without the slightes… Exceedingly happy. On a morning otherwise sunless,
Enter without knocking, hard-worki… I’m just sitting here mulling over What to do this dark, overcast day… It was a night of the radio turned… Fitful sleep, vague, troubling dre…