#Americans #Jews #Women
A man so sick that the sexual soup cannot save him - the chicken soup of sex which cures everything: tossed mane of noodles,
Again & again I have read your books without ever wishing to know you. I suck the alphabet of blood. I chew the iron filings of your wo…
Testing the soul’s mettle, the frost heaves holes in the roads to the heart, the glass forest
Because she wants to touch him, she moves away. Because she wants to talk to him, she keeps silent. Because she wants to kiss him,
This is the dirty laundry poem– because we have traveled from town… accumulating soiled linen & sw… & blue-jeans caked & clott… & teeshirts crumpled by our gl…
The house of the body is a stately manor open for nothing never to the public. But
The lessons we learned here (fumbling with our lunchbags, handkerchiefs & secret cheeks of bubblegum) were graver than any
Rising in the morning like warm bread, from a bed in America, the aroma
You gave me a rose last time we met. I told myself if it bloomed our love would bloom,
The decorum of fire... —Pablo Neruda We learned the decorum of fire, the flame’s curious symmetry, the blue heat at the center of the…
On the first night of the full moon, the primeval sack of ocean broke, & I gave birth to you
I sit at my desk alone as I did on many Sunday afternoons when you came back to me, your arms aching for me,
Unable to bear the uncertainty of the future, we consulted seers, mediums, stock market gurus,
I am not interested in my body– the part that stinks & rots & brings forth life,
I mourn a dead friend, like myself… —Pablo Neruda about César Vallej… I looked at the book. ‘It will stand,’ I thought. Not a palace