#AmericanWriters
In the redwood house sailing off into the ocean, I sleep with you– our dreams mingling, our breath coming & going
For a long time unhappy with my man, I blamed men, blamed marriage, blamed the whole bleeding world,
Goddess, I come to you my neck wreathed with rosebuds, my head filled with visions of inf… my palms open to your silver nails… my eyes open to your rays of illum…
Baby-witch, my daughter, my worship of the Goddess alone condemns you to the fire. . .
Because I am here anchoring you to the passionate darkness, you gaze out the window at the light.
The great bed of the world arching over graves over Babi Yar with its multitude of bones, with battalions of screams
I love to go to sleep, When bed takes me like a lover wrapping my limbs in cool linen, soothing the fretfulness
Kabir says the breath inside the breath is God & I say to Kabir you are the breath inside that bre…
She left him in death’s egg, the bone sack & the gunny sack… the bag of down & feathers-all… Somehow he couldn’t get back. It was night,
The man under the bed The man who has been there for yea… The man who waits for my floating… The man who is silent as dustballs… The man whose breath is the breath…
On a darkening planet speeding toward our death, we pierce a rosy cloud & hit clean air,
Exploring each other’s depths, that surge of connection which makes the world seem sane,
Male? Female? God doesn’t care about sex & the long tree-shaded avenue
And his dark secret love Does thy life destroy. —William Blake Because I would not admit that I had nurtured
He was six foot four, and forty… and even colder than he thought he… James Thurber, The Thirteen Cloc… Not that I cared about the other… Those perfumed breasts with hearts