Every peak is a crater
This is the law of volcanoes,making them eternally and visibly female
No height without depth, without a burning core,though our straw soles shred on the hardened lava
I want to travel with you to every sacred...
II wake up in your bed
I know I have been dreaming
Much earlier, the alarm broke us from each other,you’ve been at your desk for hours
I know what I dreamed:our friend the poet comes into my roomwhere I’ve been writing for days,draf...
This is the grass your feet are planted on
You paint it orange or you sing it green,
But you have never foundA way to make the grass mean what you mean
A cloud can be whatever you intend:
Can it be growing colder when I beginto touch myself again, adhesions pull away
When slowly the naked face turns from staring backwardand looks into the present,the eye of winter, city, anger, poverty, and deathand the lips part and say:
She had thought the studio would keep itself;no dust upon the furniture of love
Half heresy, to wish the taps less vocal,the panes relieved of grime
A plate of pears,a piano with a Persian shawl, a catstalking the picturesque amusing mou...
Good-by to you whom I shall see tomorrow,
Next year and when I'm fifty; still good-by
This is the leave we never really take
If you were dead or gone to live in
It was your vision of the pilotconfirmed my vision of you, you said
He keeps on steering headlong into the waves, on purpose while we crouched in the open hatchwayvomiting into plastic bags
For three hours between St
Pierre and Miqu...
This apartment full of books could crack opento the thick jaws, the bulging eyesof monsters, easily:
Once open the books, you have to facethe underside of everything you’ve loved—the rack and pincers held in readiness, the gageven the best vo...
Across a city from you,
I’m with you,just as an August nightmoony, inlet-warm, seabathed,
I watched you sleep,the scrubbed, sheenless wood of the dressing-tablecluttered with our brushes, books, vials in the moonlight—or a salt-mist orch...
First having read the book of myths,and loaded the camera,and checked the edge of the knife-blade,
I put onthe body-armor of black rubberthe absurd flippersthe grave and awkward mask
I am having to do thisnot like Cousteau with hisassidu...
Aunt Jennifer’s tigers prance across a screen,
Bright topaz denizens of a world of green
They do not fear the men beneath the tree;
They pace in sleek chivalric certainty
Miracle's truck comes down the little avenue,
Scott Joplin ragtime strewn behind it like pearls,and, yes, you can feel happywith one piece of your heart
Take what's still given: in a room's rich shadowa woman's breasts swinging lightly a...