#AmericanWriters
I am in love with my womb & jealous of it. I cover it tenderly with a little pink hat (a sort of yarmulke)
My love is too much– it embarrasses you– blood, poems, babies, red needs that telephone from foreign countries,
You take me to the restaurant wher… plays God over a fish tank. The f… pace their green cage, waiting to… out of an element. Who knows what… There are thirteen in a tank meant
The lessons we learned here (fumbling with our lunchbags, handkerchiefs & secret cheeks of bubblegum) were graver than any
"...a frozen memory, like any p… where nothing is missing, not even… and especially, nothingness..."… —Julio Cortázar, “Blow Up” Mirror-mad,
Mute marriages: the ten-ton block of ice obstructing the throat, the heart, the red filter of the liver, the clogged life.
This constant ache is my leg’s message to me. ‘Hello. Hello. Hello. You’re getting there,' it says, ‘step by step.’
After the first astounding rush, after the weeks at the lake, the crystal, the clouds, the water… the snow breaking under our boots… & the long mornings in bed. .…
‘Death is our eternal companion,’… —Carlos Castaneda My death looks exactly like me. She lives to my left,
In the chest is caged bat who seeks escape through the mouth. He flaps his wings & the molars shiver.
You sleep in the darkness, you with the back I love & the gift of sleeping through my noisy nights of poetry. I have taken other men into my tho…
Parachuting down through clouds shaped like whales & sharks, dolphins & penguins, pelicans & gulls,
A man so sick that the sexual soup cannot save him - the chicken soup of sex which cures everything: tossed mane of noodles,
the sky sinks its blue teeth into the mountains. Rising on pure will (the lurch & lift-off, the sudden swing
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…