#Americans #Jews #Women
Kabir says the breath inside the breath is God & I say to Kabir you are the breath inside that bre…
All over the district, on leather… & brocade couches, on daybeds & ‘professional divans,’ they… The air is thick with it, the ears of analysts must be stick…
We sit on a rock to allow our souls to catch up with us. We have been traveling a long time.
You gave me a rose last time we met. I told myself if it bloomed our love would bloom,
What makes a poet? Many have tried to guess. Is it a voice like a conduit, a plainspokenness to grief,
I am the Sphinx. I am the woman buried in sand up to her chin. I am waiting for an archaeologist to unearth me,
I am in love with my womb & jealous of it. I cover it tenderly with a little pink hat (a sort of yarmulke)
Letting the mind go, letting the pen, the breath, the movement of images in & ou… of the mouth go calm, go rhythmic
This constant ache is my leg’s message to me. ‘Hello. Hello. Hello. You’re getting there,' it says, ‘step by step.’
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,
You operate on the afternoon You perform open heart surgery on the ghosts of your suicidal friends You divorce your parents
At the edge of the body there is said to be a flaming halo– yellow, red, blue or pure white,
Meathooks, notebooks, the whole city sky palely flaming & spectral bombs hitting that patch of river I see from my eastern window.
All the boring tedious young men with dead eyes & dirty hair .… all the mad young men who hate the… all the squalling baby boys . . . have grown up
You whom I hoped to reach by writ… you beyond the multicolored tangle of telephone wires, you with your white paper soul trampled in transit,