#Americans #Suicide #Women #XXCentury
“I shut my eyes and all the world… I lift my lids and all is born aga… (I think I made you up inside my… The stars go waltzing out in blue… And arbitrary blackness gallops in…
Compelled by calamity’s magnet They loiter and stare as if the ho… Burnt—out were theirs, or as if th… Some scandal might any minute ooze From a smoke—choked closet into li…
On this bald hill the new year hon… Faceless and pale as china The round sky goes on minding its… Your absence is inconspicuous; Nobody can tell what I lack.
But I would rather be horizontal. I am not a tree with my root in th… Sucking up minerals and motherly l… So that each March I may gleam in… Nor am I the beauty of a garden b…
A garden of mouthings. Purple, sc… The great corollas dilate, peeling… Their musk encroaches, circle afte… A well of scents almost too dense… Hieratical in your frock coat, mae…
The Sunday lamb cracks in its fat… The fat Sacrifices its opacity. . . . A window, holy gold. The fire makes it precious,
An old beast ended in this place: A monster of wood and rusty teeth. Fire smelted his eyes to lumps Of pale blue vitreous stuff, opaqu… As resin drops oozed from pine bar…
This is a dark house, very big. I made it myself, Cell by cell from a quiet corner, Chewing at the grey paper, Oozing the glue drops,
All morning in the strawberry fiel… They talked about the Russians. Squatted down between the rows We listened. We heard the head woman say,
I am sending back the key that let me into bluebeard’s study… because he would make love to me I am sending back the key; in his eye’s darkroom I can see
Ravening through the persistent br… Of blunt pencils, rose-sprigged co… Postage stamps, stacked books’ cla… Neighborhood cockcrow —all nature’… The vaunting mind
Or, cette jeune fille pointilleuse Lors d’une cérémonieuse promenade… Avec son dernier soupirant Fut soudain frappée, intolérableme… Par le brouhaha irrégulier des ois…
All day she plays at chess with th… Favored (while suddenly the rains… Beyond the window) she lies on cus… And nibbles an occasional bonbon o… Prim, pink—breasted, feminine, she…
My night sweats grease his breakfa… The same placard of blue fog is wh… With the same trees and headstones… Is that all he can come up with, The rattler of keys?
Open-mouthed, the baby god Immense, bald, though baby-headed, Cried out for the mother’s dug. The dry volcanoes cracked and spli… Sand abraded the milkless lip.