#Americans #Jews #Women
‘Death is our eternal companion,’… —Carlos Castaneda My death looks exactly like me. She lives to my left,
When I am an old lady the young men will come to me & sit trembling at my trembling
The lover in these poems is me; the doctor, Love. He appears
This is the long tunnel of wanting… Its walls are lined with remembere… wet & red as the inside of you… full & juicy as your probing t… warm as your belly against mine,
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
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
In the chest is caged bat who seeks escape through the mouth. He flaps his wings & the molars shiver.
Old bag of bones upside down, what are you searching for in poetry, in meditation?
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…
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,
We used to strike sparks off each other. Our eyes would meet or our hands, & the blue lightning of love
Kabir says the breath inside the breath is God & I say to Kabir you are the breath inside that bre…
On the first night of the full moon, the primeval sack of ocean broke, & I gave birth to you
"...a frozen memory, like any p… where nothing is missing, not even… and especially, nothingness..."… —Julio Cortázar, “Blow Up” Mirror-mad,
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. .…