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There was a letter from my motherto the editor of the Joliet newspaper,publishedone month ago today.She wrote of her sadness, the pale midwest wintersobbing slowlyin drifts of snow at the nursing home window. Her winter is my summer now.My mother wrote a letterand said she…
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97021
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Only fragments of their lives survive, like broken Sapphos. I have known them, alleged killer of themselves for the love of a man., but we know this is an invention. The leader of a whole guild of girls, who wrote 7 books of poems. What happened to them
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5800
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Yes, ordinary people come out of the day at day’s end, out of a park or orchard, a pleasure garden large, squeezed out of paradise, of something very large, and things torn away go shooting by and are received in the deep annals of omission.
Separat
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810127
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Nostalgia is
when memories
turn into Gods
of knowing who you were.
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128652
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this one was abandoned... a splinter left under the skin, pushed out by protective flesh
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7900
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Whatever it was I had for you came straight out of terrible desire. I thought I was wise beforehand, shrewd, knowing all, everything, but I was wise unto numbness between my legs, if you want the truth. Receiving and containing your deliciousness before
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96500
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What do I understand?
What have I mastered or come to terms with?
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1202513
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the joints of his hand scratch the immaculate word
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5100
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To the land I am from, the earth, hail and good health, from the generation of twice-borne powerful bones. I have been at the borders of the soul, near the extremity of their pain and passion. I of the hot land and cold. I of the hot earth. A swarm, a m
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85200
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I am—
a plan in progress.
I am motion in motion,
a direction headed in the right direction
by way of an off beaten trail
of misdirection.
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76620
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I am like a spice in wind, warm and gentle on the face, a reminder of your youth, tried and true. Lick the trapped silk from my soul, is all I am saying, with your high language. Get the core out of me and turn it under your tongue. Why shouldn't the egg
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96541
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You can't always be everything
you were expected to be
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33844
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No glue can reunite this tea set wreck. The refrigerator clicks and hums, towers over, swallows me in shadow.
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124721
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The air has its dark confessional, and I have mine. Hot is called raw by some, hate mixed with malice for others. I am only separated by this dark window of time from you, but you never feared the lovely or the lonely.
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113753
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Oh my god - A plagiarizing pony - I know someone must have said that before
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