#AmericanWriters
We think of hidden in a white dres… among the folded linens and sachet… of well-kept cupboards, or just ou… sending jellies and notes with no… to all the wondering Amherst neigh…
Into the gravity of my life, the serious ceremonies of polish and paper and pen, has come this manic animal
Some say it was a pear Eve ate. Why else the shape of the womb,
When our cars touched When you lifted the hood of mine To see the intimate workings under… When we were bound together By a pulse of pure energy,
I want to write you a love poem as headlong as our creek after thaw when we stand
I married you for all the wrong re… charmed by your dangerous family h… by the innocent muscles, bulging l… weapons under your shirt, by your… the colors of painted scraps of su…
What we want is never simple. We move among the things we thought we wanted: a face, a room, an open book
For Jews, the Cossacks are always… Therefore I think the sun spot on… is melanoma. Therefore I celebrat… New Year’s Eve by counting my annual dead.
The door of winter is frozen shut, and like the bodies of long extinct animals, cars lie abandoned wherever
Finding a new poet is like finding a new wildflower out in the woods. You don’t see its name in the flower books, and nobody you tell believes
Pierre Bonnard would enter the museum with a tube of paint in his pocket and a sable brush. Then violating the sanctity of one of his own frames
It was early May, I think a moment of lilac or dogwood when so many promises are made it hardly matters if a few are bro… My mother and father still hovered
I am only leaving you for a handful of days but it feels as thought i will be gone forever the way the door closes
When I taught you at eight to ride a bicycle, loping along beside you as you wobbled away
1. THE SACRIFICE On this tile the knife like a sickle-moon hangs in the painted air