#AmericanWriters
Regret is the young girl who sits… & stares at her hands. They are bluer than shadows in sno… They are bloodless as fear. Her fingernail moons are white.
If God is a dog drowsing, contemplating the quintessential dogginess of the universe, of the whole canine race, why are we
Because you did, I too arrange fl… Watching the pistils just like ins… And the hard, red flesh of the pet… Widening beneath my eyes. They mo… Of clocks, seeming not to move exc…
You gave me the child that seamed my belly & stitched up my life. You gave me: one book of love poem… five years of peace
In the redwood house sailing off into the ocean, I sleep with you– our dreams mingling, our breath coming & going
I sit in the black leather chair meditating on the plume of smoke that rises in the air, riffling the pages of my life
Spring, rainbows, ordinary miracles about which nothing new can be said. The stars on a clear night
Not wanting to write for fear that anything– the passion for the page, the love of carbon ribbons & e… will distract me from your face,
After the college reading, the eager students gather. They ask me
I love to go to sleep, When bed takes me like a lover wrapping my limbs in cool linen, soothing the fretfulness
(a flip through BRIDE’s) The silver spoons were warbling their absurd musical names when, drawing back
‘Death is our eternal companion,’… —Carlos Castaneda My death looks exactly like me. She lives to my left,
Boswell– you old rake– I have tri… your style; but it is no use; my d… all between my selves: and though… make endless notes and jottings th… my memory– it is in vain– for in t…
I hear you will not fall in love w… because I come without a guarantee… because someday I may depart at wh… and leave you desolate, abandoned,… If that’s the case, what use to be…
I try to keep falling in love if only to keep death at bay.