#Americans #Suicide #Women #AmericanWriters
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…
Arena dust rusted by four bulls’ b… The afternoon at a bad end under t… The ritual death each time botched… stabs, The strongest will seemed a will t…
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…
O half moon— Half-brain, luminosity— Negro, masked like a white, Your dark Amputations crawl and appall—
What was she doing when it blew in Over the seven hills, the red furr… Was she arranging cups? It is imp… Was she at the window, listening? In that valley the train shrieks e…
“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…
In the Archæological Museum in C… coffin of the fourth century A.D.… of a woman, a mouse and a shrew. T… woman has been slightly gnawed. Rigged poker —stiff on her back
Midnight in the mid-Atlantic. On… Wrapped up in themselves as in thi… And mute as mannequins in a dress… Some few passangers keep track Of the old star-map on the ceiling…
On storm—struck deck, wind sirens… With each tilt, shock and shudder,… Cleaves forward into fury; dark as… Waves wallop, assaulting the stubb… Flayed by spray, we take the chall…
The womb Rattles its pod, the moon Discharges itself from the tree wi… My landscape is a hand with no lin… The roads bunched to a knot,
Day of mist: day of tarnish with hands unserviceable, I wait for the milk van the one—eared cat
Love set you going like a fat gold… The midwife slapped your footsoles… Took its place among the elements. Our voices echo, magnifying your a… In a drafty museum, your nakedness
The Sunday lamb cracks in its fat… The fat Sacrifices its opacity. . . . A window, holy gold. The fire makes it precious,
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,
That lofty monarch, Monarch Mind, Blue-blooded in coarse country rei… Though he bedded in ermine, gorged… Pure Philosophy his love engrosse… While subjects hungered, empty-pur…