#AmericanWriters
My love is too much– it embarrasses you– blood, poems, babies, red needs that telephone from foreign countries,
On line at the supermarket waiting for the tally, the blue numerals tattooed on the white skins
We used to strike sparks off each other. Our eyes would meet or our hands, & the blue lightning of love
People wish to be settled. Onl… —Thoreau My life has been the instrument for a mouth
All night he lies awake tuning the… tuning the night with its fat crac… with its melancholy love songs cro… across the rainy air above Verdun & the autobahn’s blue suicidal…
Because you did, I too arrange fl… Watching the pistils just like ins… And the hard, red flesh of the pet… Widening beneath my eyes. They mo… Of clocks, seeming not to move exc…
If God is a dog drowsing, contemplating the quintessential dogginess of the universe, of the whole canine race, why are we
The experience of fear is not an o… —J. Krishnamurti In dreams I descend into the cave of my past: a child with a morgue-tag
These beautifully grown men. Thes… Look at them looking! They’re overdrawn on all accounts… & they’ve missed (for the hundredth time) the expre…
After the first astounding rush, after the weeks at the lake, the crystal, the clouds, the water… the snow breaking under our boots… & the long mornings in bed. .…
A man so sick that the sexual soup cannot save him - the chicken soup of sex which cures everything: tossed mane of noodles,
Baby-witch, my daughter, my worship of the Goddess alone condemns you to the fire. . .
I sleep with double pillows since… Is one of them for you-or is it yo… My bed is heaped with books of poe… I fall asleep on yellow legal pads… Oh the orgies in stationery stores…
With his head full of Shakespeare… and old notions of poetic justice, he was ready with his elegies the day the ocean sailed into the… ‘The sea,’ he wrote, 'is a forgivi…
When the devil brings him, like a Christmas puppy, examine his downy fur & smell his small paws for the scent of sulphur.