#AmericanWriters
As she walked she would look back over her shoulder and trip upon sidewalk cracks or bump into people to whom she would apol… profusely, her head still turned.
I’m very pleased to be a body. Ca… As you hold mine I feel firmly as… and I think all life is a body. I… especially with the sun shining on… I have hurt the body. That’s when…
The steam hammer pounds with a reg… Neither the hammer nor the steel s… terrible meeting between them, pro… that some things must be done, reg… cost too is absorbed in the doing…
at fifty I approach myself, eighteen years of age, seated despondently on the concret… of my father’s house, wishing to be gone from there
I stand and listen, head bowed, to my inner complaint. Persons passing by think I am searching for a lost coin. You’re fired, I yell inside
This tree has two million and seve… Perhaps I missed a leaf or two bu… at having persisted in counting by… and marked down on paper with penc… Adding them up was a pleasure I c…
I have something to tell you. I’m listening. I’m dying. I’m sorry to hear. I’m growing old.
If we could be brought to the surf… like a gleaming fish and served fo… if we could eat and swallow our ow… to make a good meal, if we could g… for ourselves and feed on the glea…
Here in bed behind a brick wall I can make order and meaning, but how do I begin? How do I emerge without panic to the sounds and mass
Prescient, my hands soothing their foreheads, by my love I earn them. in their presence I am wretched as death. They smil… to me of love. They cheer me
It’s midnight, the house silent, in the distance a musical instrume… being played softly. I am alone. It’s as if the world has come to a… on a low musical note
Earth hard to my heels bear me up like a child standing on its mother’s belly. I am a surprised guest to the air
I am looking for a past I can rely on in order to look to death with equanimity. What was given me:
Without sexual attraction, there i… the brutal movement of the sea. The face peers out of its skeletal… and hands reach like bone. Without love, the streets
As I reach to close each book lying open on my desk, it leaps up to snap at my fingers. My legs won’t hold me, I must sit down. My fingers pain me