#Americans #Suicide #Women #XXCentury
(I) This is the sea, then, this great… How the sun’s poultice draws on my… Electrifyingly—colored sherbets, s… By pale girls, travel the air in s…
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
Enter the chilly no—man’s land of about Five o’clock in the morning, the no—color void Where the waking head rubbishes out the draggled lot Of sulfurous dreamscapes and obscure lunar co...
The day you died I went into the… Into the lightless hibernaculum Where bees, striped black and gold… Like hieratic stones, and the grou… It was good for twenty years, that…
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…
No use, no use, now, begging Reco… There is nothing to do with such a… Name, house, car keys, The little toy wife— Erased, sigh, sigh.
All morning in the strawberry fiel… They talked about the Russians. Squatted down between the rows We listened. We heard the head woman say,
We came over the moor—top Through air streaming and green—li… Stone farms foundering in it, Valleys of grass altering In a light neither dawn
Meadows of gold dust. The silver Currents of the Connecticut fan And meander in bland pleatings und… River-verge farms where rye-heads… All’s polished to a dull luster
deep in liquid turquoise slivers of dilute light quiver in thin streaks of bright tinfoil
They are the last romantics, these… Upside—down hearts of light tippin… And the fingers, taken in by their… Grown milky, almost clear, like th… It is touching, the way they’ll ig…
Your clear eye is the one absolute… I want to fill it with color and d… The zoo of the new Whose names you meditate —— April snowdrop, Indian pipe,
The winter landscape hangs in bala… Transfixed by glare of blue from g… The skaters freese within a stone… Air alters into glass and the whol… Grows brittle as a tilted china bo…
I thought that I could not be hur… I thought that I must surely be impervious to suffering— immune to pain or agony.
The nose—end that twitches, the ol… Tolerable now as moles on the face Put up with until chagrin gives pl… To a wry complaisance—— Dug in first as God’s spurs