#AmericanWriters #FemaleWriters #Suicide
Surely I will be disquieted by the hospital, that body zone— bodies wrapped in elastic bands, bodies cased in wood or used like… bodies crucified up onto their cru…
Your midriff sags toward your knee… your breast lie down in air, their nipples as uninvolved as warm starfish. You stand in your elastic case,
Not that it was beautiful, but that, in the end, there was a certain sense of order there; something worth learning in that narrow diary of my mind,
Your daisies have come on the day of my divorce: the courtroom a cement box, a gas chamber for the infectious J… and a perhaps land, a possibly pro…
They work with herbs and penicillin They work with gentleness and the scalpel. They dig out the cancer,
Perhaps the earth is floating, I do not know. Perhaps the stars are little paper… made by some giant scissors, I do not know.
Mole, angel—dog of the pit, digging six miles a night, what’s up with you in your sooty s… where’s your kitchen at? I find you at the edge of our pond…
God loafs around heaven, without a shape but He would like to smoke His ci… or bite His fingernails and so forth.
Loving me with my shows off means loving my long brown legs, sweet dears, as good as spoons; and my feet, those two children let out to play naked. Intricate n…
Gone, I say and walk from church, refusing the stiff procession to t… letting the dead ride alone in the… It is June. I am tired of being b… We drive to the Cape. I cultivate
What’s missing is the eyeballs in each of us, but it doesn’t matt… because you’ve got the bucks, the… You let me touch them, fondle the… lick at their numbers and it lets…
It’s in the heart of the grape where that smile lies. It’s in the good—bye—bow in the ha… where that smile lies. It’s in the clerical collar of the…
Moist, moist, the heat leaking through the hinge… sun baking the roof like a pie and I and thou and she eating, working, sweating,
'You speak to me of narcissism but… a matter of my life’ —Artaud 'At this time let me somehow beque… to my daughters and their daughter… Better,
If you danced from midnight to six A.M. who would understand? The runaway boy who chucks it all to live on the Boston Common