#AmericanWriters
Endless duplication of lives and o… —Theodore Roethke I have known the imperial power of… the awesome indifference of recept… I have been intimidated by desk &a…
The lover in these poems is me; the doctor, Love. He appears
I sit at home at my desk alone as I used to do on many sunday afternoons when you came back to me,
I sit in the black leather chair meditating on the plume of smoke that rises in the air, riffling the pages of my life
Ash falls on the roof of my house. I have cursed you enough in the lines of my poems & between them,
If it is impossible to promise absolute fidelity, this is because we learn so much geography from the shifting of one body
When the devil brings him, like a Christmas puppy, examine his downy fur & smell his small paws for the scent of sulphur.
The old poet with his face full of lines, with iambs jumping in his hair lik… with all the revisions of his body unsaying him,
At dusk Demeter becomes afraid for baby Persephone lost in that hell which she herself created
I am in love with my womb & jealous of it. I cover it tenderly with a little pink hat (a sort of yarmulke)
I am happiest near the ocean, where the changing light reminds me of my death & the fact that it need not be…
When I am an old lady the young men will come to me & sit trembling at my trembling
There is only one story: he loved her, then stopped loving her, while she did not stop loving him.
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…
Books which are stitched up the ce… Books on the beach with sunglass-c… Books about food with pictures of… Books about baking bread with brow… Books about long-haired Frenchmen…