#AmericanWriters
People who live by the sea understand eternity. They copy the curves of the waves, their hearts beat with the tides, & the saltiness of their blood
Already six years past your age! The steps in Rome, the house near Hampstead Heath, & all your fears that you might cease to be
We used to meet on this corner in the same wind. It fought us up the hill to your house,
Because my grandmother’s hours were apple cakes baking, & dust motes gathering, & linens yellowing & seams and hems
At the edge of the body there is said to be a flaming halo– yellow, red, blue or pure white,
What is the central passion of a life? To please mummy & daddy? To find a home for their furniture… To found a family of one’s own,
‘Why do you have stripes in your forehead, Mama? Are you
You operate on the afternoon You perform open heart surgery on the ghosts of your suicidal friends You divorce your parents
Unable to bear the uncertainty of the future, we consulted seers, mediums, stock market gurus,
On line at the supermarket waiting for the tally, the blue numerals tattooed on the white skins
The women he has had are all faces without eyes. He has entered them blind as a cut worm. He has swum their oceans
The man giving birth in the dark has died & come back to life again, is stretching out his arms
He says he is a perfect poet. He lives alone, with his perfect m… & sometimes they don’t even sp… So perfectly do they ‘communicate.… He lives alone, his greatest pleas…
Parachuting down through clouds shaped like whales & sharks, dolphins & penguins, pelicans & gulls,
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…