#Americans #Suicide #Women #XXCentury
Perhaps the earth is floating, I do not know. Perhaps the stars are little paper… made by some giant scissors, I do not know.
Child, the current of your breath… You lie, a small knuckle on my whi… lie, fisted like a snail, so small… at my breast. Your lips are animal… with love. At first hunger is not…
From the hodge porridge of their country lust, their local life in Illinois, where all their acres look like a sprouting broom factory,
Father, this year’s jinx rides us… where you followed our mother to h… a second shock boiling its stone t… leaving me here to shuffle and dis… you from the residence you could n…
Put on a clean shirt before you die, some Russian said. Nothing with drool, please, no egg spots, no blood, no sweat, no sperm.
All day we watched the gulls striking the top of the sky and riding the blown roller coaste… Up there godding the whole blue world
In his tenth July some instinct taught him to arm the waiting wave… a giant where its mouth hung open. He rode on the lip that buoyed him… and buckled him under. The beach w…
Gone, I say and walk from church, refusing the stiff procession to t… letting the dead ride alone in the… It is June. I am tired of being b… We drive to the Cape. I cultivate
Perhaps I was born kneeling, born coughing on the long winter, born expecting the kiss of mercy, born with a passion for quickness and yet, as things progressed,
You said the anger would come back just as the love did. I have a black look I do not like. It is a mask I try on. I migrate toward it and its frog
Since you ask, most days I cannot… I walk in my clothing, unmarked by… Then the almost unnameable lust re… Even then I have nothing against… I know well the grass blades you m…
Today the circus poster is scabbing off the concrete wall and the children have forgotten if they knew at all. Father, do you remember?
After I wrote this, a friend scra… And I said, merely to myself, “I… different seizure—as with Molly B… yes I said yes I will Yes.' It is not a turtle
Not that it was beautiful, but that, in the end, there was a certain sense of order there; something worth learning in that narrow diary of my mind,
Be careful of words, even the miraculous ones. For the miraculous we do our best, sometimes they swarm like insects and leave not a sting but a kiss.