#Americans #Suicide #Women #XXCentury
You said you would kill it this mo… Do not kill it. It startles me st… The jut of that odd, dark head, pa… Through the uncut grass on the elm… It is something to own a pheasant,
The scene stands stubborn: skinfli… Hoard last year’s leaves, won’t mo… To elegiac dryads, and dour grass Guards the hard-hearted emerald of… However the grandiloquent mind may…
Your clear eye is the one absolute… I want to fill it with color and d… The zoo of the new Whose names you meditate —— April snowdrop, Indian pipe,
Pocket watch, I tick well. The streets are lizardy crevices Sheer—sided, with holes where to h… It is best to meet in a cul—de—sac… A palace of velvet
What a thrill —— My thumb instead of an onion. The top quite gone Except for a sort of a hinge Of skin,
Two virtues ride, by stallion, by… To grind our knives and scissors: Lantern—jawed Reason, squat Commo… One courting doctors of all sorts, One, housewives and shopkeepers.
I can taste the tin of the sky ——t… Winter dawn is the color of metal, The trees stiffen into place like… All night I have dreamed of destr… An assembly—line of cut throats, a…
Gerd sits spindle—shaped in her da… Lean face gone tawn with seasons, Skin worn down to the knucklebones At her tough trade; without time’s… The burnished ball hangs fire in h…
Enter the chilly no—man’s land of about Five o’clock in the morning, the no—color void Where the waking head rubbishes out the draggled lot Of sulfurous dreamscapes and obscure lunar co...
Once I was ordinary: Sat by my father’s bean tree Eating the fingers of wisdom. The birds made milk. When it thundered I hid under a f…
Where the three magenta Breakwaters take the shove And suck of the grey sea To the left, and the wave Unfists against the dun
We came over the moor—top Through air streaming and green—li… Stone farms foundering in it, Valleys of grass altering In a light neither dawn
Born green we were to this flawed garden, but in speckled thickets, warted a… spitefully skulks our warden, fixing his snare
The figs on the fig tree in the ya… Green, also, the grapes on the gre… Shading the brickred porch tiles. The money’s run out. How nature, sensing this, compound…
Gold mouths cry with the green you… certainty of the bronze boy remembering a thousand autumns and how a hundred thousand leaves came sliding down his shoulder bla…
