#AmericanWriters
Because he dreams of seeding the w… his eyes bite She looks He looks away He is snow-blind from staring at her breasts
Looking for a place where we might turn off the inner dialogue, the monologue of futures & regrets,
In the redwood house sailing off into the ocean, I sleep with you– our dreams mingling, our breath coming & going
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,
The lover in these poems is me; the doctor, Love. He appears
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,
For centuries we have lain like this, our warmths intermingled, our hearts beating the same two-step,
Ash falls on the roof of my house. I have cursed you enough in the lines of my poems & between them,
On the first night of the full moon, the primeval sack of ocean broke, & I gave birth to you
The great bed of the world arching over graves over Babi Yar with its multitude of bones, with battalions of screams
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
I am happiest near the ocean, where the changing light reminds me of my death & the fact that it need not be…
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
For Naomi Lazard Sometimes I can’t wait until I… —Naomi Lazard My friends are tired. The ones who are married are tired
Dear Colette, I want to write to you about being a woman for that is what you write to me. I want to tell you how your face