The house of my body has spoken often as you rebuild me like blocks, and promise to come visit when I'm finally adjusted on safe land, and am livable, joist to joist with storm windows and screens ...
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Death's a sad bone; bruised, you'd say, and yet she waits for me, year after year,
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Big heart, wide as a watermelon, but wise as birth, there is so much abundance in the people I have....
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The My Lai soldier lifts me up again and again and lowers me down with the other dead women and babies...
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At six I lived in a graveyard full of dolls, avoiding myself, my body, the suspect in its grotesque house.
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this is no dream just my oily life where the people are alibis and the street is unfindable for an entire lifetime.
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Your apple face, the simple crèche Of your arms, the August smells...
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His soul dropped down from heaven. Thank you, said Lazarus,...
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All those girls who wore the red shoes,...
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We laugh and we touch. I promise you love. Time will not take away that.
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Just once I knew what life was for.
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Someone is dead. Even the trees know it, those poor old dancers who come on lewdly, all pea-green scarfs and spine pole.
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Your old skin puckering, your lungs' breath Grown baby short as you looked up last...
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Oh, darling, let your body in, let it tie you in, in comfort.
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So I won't hang around in my hospital shift, repeating The Black Mass and all of it....
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Don't look now, God, we're all right. All the suicides are eating Black Bean Soup;...
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... the heart monitor, the death cricket bleeping.
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My life has appeared unclothed in court,...
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What's the point of fighting the dollars when all you need is a warm bed?...
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Death, I need my little addiction to you....
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... wounding God with his blue face, his tyranny, his absolute kingdom, with my aphrodisiac.
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And thus Snow White became the prince's bride. The wicked queen was invited to the wedding feast...
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this errand we're on goes to one store.
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she will not say how there must be more to living...
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The joy that isn't shared dies young.
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I was the girl of the chain letter,...
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the cement wall of the clumsy calendar I live in, my life, and its hauled up notebooks.
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life is a trick, life is a kitten in a sack.
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The sea is mother-death and she is a mighty female, the one who wins, the one who sucks us all up.
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and you'll bargain with the calendar and at the last moment...
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