6 notes &
Needing poetry now more than ever. God takes his dress off and lies down.
6 notes &
Needing poetry now more than ever. God takes his dress off and lies down.
2 notes &
Not happy about the days. I open all the windows. Tucking my shirt into my skirt. A skunk spraying his fear right along the outside of my bedroom wall. The apartment stunk up. I have been struggling with sleep. The dreams pulling a molar. A. going down on me, all the lights on. Knowing I had left him - and in the dream knowing, I would leave him. Always, I am pregnant. The tallest frame presenting himself to me, the dog at his side, speaking gibberish and not being able to take my eyes off his hands. And my hands the ones I need to keep my eyes on.
6 notes &
It is difficult now to speak of poetry -
about those who have recognized the range of choice or those who have lived with the life they were born to -. It is not precisely a question of profundity but a different order of experience. One would have to tell what happens in a life, what choices present themselves, what the world is for us, what happens in time, what thought is in the course of a life and therefore what art is, and the isolation of the actual
I would want to talk of rooms and of what they look out on and of basements, the rough walls bearing the marks of the forms, the old marks of wood in the concrete, such solitude as we know -
and the swept floors. Someone, a workman bearing about him, feeling about him that perculiar word like a dishonored fatherhood has swept this solitary floor, this profoundly hidden floor - such solitude as we know.
One must not come to feel that he has a thousand threads
in his hands,
He must somehow see the one thing;
This is the level of art
There are other levels
But there is no other level of art
2 notes &
I’ve always been such a sucker for readers.
0 notes &
In the dream he leaned in and said You already have all the answers, Jane.
3 notes &
The night cold turns the body pale.
Forgetting how to. The upstairs neighbor walks.
It’s 2 am and the other neighbor comes home.
Laughing.
Always.
You have to practice. The wrist cracking.
One will find. Her way.
Dropping.
Line by line.
The wrist cracks. A siren.
Pretty soon. There won’t be water.
Leigh cycles her legs.
Joe believed. First the world would shift.
Then he believed the world would end.
It’s a wonder anyone’s sleeping.
Trying to stay young.
2 notes &
The night comes back on. Folding the laundry. Wiping the soles of it’s feet before getting into bed. I finally recognized my own face in the mirror.
3 notes &
Three years ago, someone I could have been good with said to me, You need to have a little more self-respect. Because by the time I got to him, I couldn’t receive. And tonight I thought, isn’t it about time? Listening to the ocean come up to the highway.
(clearly this is a theme.)
2 notes &
Trying to be good to myself. I salt the chicken and put the water on for tea. Threading the moon through my ears. I will feed the dog. I will put lipstick on. I will go to a meeting.
The silence always the hardest for me to bare. (And I must learn.)
Writing this afternoon that I don’t know what I look like now, but too thin. And out of cigarettes.
Missing the Film Forum.
Walking down Houston.
E.
0 notes &
Well. Then. You say Grandmother
let me just ask you this:
How does a body rise up again and rinse
her mouth from the tap. And how
does a body put in a plum tree
or lie again on top of another body
or string a trellis. Or go on drying
the flatware. Fix rainbow trout. Grout the tile.
Buy a bag of onions. Beat an egg stiff. Yes,
how does the cat continue
to lick itself from toenail to tailhole.
And how does a body break
bread with the word when the word
has broken. Again. And. Again.
With the wine. And the loaf.
And the excellent glass
of the body. And she says,
Even. If. The. Sky. Is. Falling.
My. Peace. Rose. Is. In. Bloom.
