#Americans #Jews #Women
The decorum of fire... —Pablo Neruda We learned the decorum of fire, the flame’s curious symmetry, the blue heat at the center of the…
Goddess, I come to you my neck wreathed with rosebuds, my head filled with visions of inf… my palms open to your silver nails… my eyes open to your rays of illum…
You call me courageous, I who grew up gnawing on books, as some kids
We used to strike sparks off each other. Our eyes would meet or our hands, & the blue lightning of love
We have a small sculpture of H… Nothing would surprise him. The beast in the jungle was what h… Edith Wharton’s obfuscating older… He fled the demons
Unable to bear the uncertainty of the future, we consulted seers, mediums, stock market gurus,
Regret is the young girl who sits… & stares at her hands. They are bluer than shadows in sno… They are bloodless as fear. Her fingernail moons are white.
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…
Your slit so like mine: the woman of it, the warm womanwide of thigh, & the comfort of it– knowing your nipples like mine,
People wish to be settled. Onl… —Thoreau My life has been the instrument for a mouth
The man under the bed The man who has been there for yea… The man who waits for my floating… The man who is silent as dustballs… The man whose breath is the breath…
‘Hotel rooms constitute a separate… —Tom Stoppard A bed, a telephone, the cord to the world beyond the womb . . .
I sit at my desk alone as I did on many Sunday afternoons when you came back to me, your arms aching for me,
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…
Letting the mind go, letting the pen, the breath, the movement of images in & ou… of the mouth go calm, go rhythmic