#AmericanWriters
Narrowing life because of the fear… narrowing it between the dust mote… narrowing the pink baby between the green-limbed monsters, & the drooling idiots,
For a long time unhappy with my man, I blamed men, blamed marriage, blamed the whole bleeding world,
If it is only for the taking off– the velvet cloak, the ostrich feather boa, the dress which slithers to the fl… with the sound of strange men sigh…
On the first night of the full moon, the primeval sack of ocean broke, & I gave birth to you
Ash falls on the roof of my house. I have cursed you enough in the lines of my poems & between them,
I am not interested in my body– the part that stinks & rots & brings forth life,
This constant ache is my leg’s message to me. ‘Hello. Hello. Hello. You’re getting there,' it says, ‘step by step.’
Letting the mind go, letting the pen, the breath, the movement of images in & ou… of the mouth go calm, go rhythmic
A delicate border. A nonexistent… The train obligingly dissolves in… The G.I. next to me is talking wa… I don’t ‘know the Asian mind,’ he… Moving through old arguments.
Living in a house near the Black Forest, without any clocks, she’s begun to listen to the walls.
We used to strike sparks off each other. Our eyes would meet or our hands, & the blue lightning of love
He still wears the glass skin of c… Under his hands, the stones turn m… His eyes are knives. Who froze the ground to his feet? Who locked his mouth into an horiz…
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,
Your slit so like mine: the woman of it, the warm womanwide of thigh, & the comfort of it– knowing your nipples like mine,
My love is too much– it embarrasses you– blood, poems, babies, red needs that telephone from foreign countries,