#AmericanWriters
I hear you will not fall in love w… because I come without a guarantee… because someday I may depart at wh… and leave you desolate, abandoned,… If that’s the case, what use to be…
Dearest man-in-the-moon, ever since our lunch of cheese & moonjuice on the far side of the sun, I have walked the craters of New…
Because I am here anchoring you to the passionate darkness, you gaze out the window at the light.
I pass to the other side of the pa… —Pablo Neruda On the other side of the page where the last days go, where the lost poems go,
Parachuting down through clouds shaped like whales & sharks, dolphins & penguins, pelicans & gulls,
Nobody believes in love– not even me. Love is the thing you wait to end.
I was sick of being a woman, sick of the pain, the irrelevant detail of sex, my own concavity uselessly hungering
Now, moving in, cartons on the flo… the radio playing to bare walls, picture hooks left stranded in the unsoiled squares where pain… and something reminding us
The great bed of the world arching over graves over Babi Yar with its multitude of bones, with battalions of screams
You are the first muse who came to… The others began & ended with… or a glance or a kiss between stan… the others strode away in the poin… or were kicked out by the stiletto…
In Autumn, as in Spring, the sap flows, the sap wishes to race against heartbeats
He says he is a perfect poet. He lives alone, with his perfect m… & sometimes they don’t even sp… So perfectly do they ‘communicate.… He lives alone, his greatest pleas…
You can be hurt because you want too much; because in your face it says: love me, nurture me; because in your teeth it says:
I am in love with my womb & jealous of it. I cover it tenderly with a little pink hat (a sort of yarmulke)
Driving me away is easier than saying goodbye– kissing the air,