Don't lock me in wedlock, I want marriage, an encounter....
|
and wife or husband who does not lock the door of the marriage...
|
Don't eat those nice green dollars your wife gives you for breakfast.
|
'Living a life'— the beauty of deep lines dug in your cheeks.
|
Bite down on the bitter stem of your nectared...
|
The Minoan Snake Goddess is flanked by a Chardin still-life, somber and tranquil, and by Mohammedan angels...
|
In the gold mouth of a flower the black smell of spring earth....
|
I remember a dream two nights ago: the voice, 'the artist must create himself or be born again.'
|
Two girls discover the secret of life in a sudden line of poetry.
|
Marvelous Truth, confront us at every turn, in every guise.
|
A letter with it discloses, in its words and between them,...
|
there is more blood than sweet juice always more blood—mister death goes indoors exhausted
|
Sixteen. Her breasts round, round, and dark-nippled who now these two months long is bones and tatters of flesh in earth.
|
I hear the tide turning. Last eager wave over- taken and pulled back by first wave of the ebb.
|
As the artist extends his world with...
|
putting his hope in certain death, lowering his head again to the grass.
|
Darling Death shouted in his ear,...
|
Last night as if death had lit a pale light...
|
I would be met and meet you so, in a green airy space, not locked in.
|
... asks what it's too late to ask: "Where is my life? Where is my life? What have I done with my life?"
|
Black one, black one, there was a white candle in your heart.
|
A changing skyline. A slice of window filled in by a middle-distancing oblong topped by little moving figures.
|
old Death, dusty gardener, are you alive yet, do I live on yet, in your gray considering eye?
|
... transform into our flesh our...
|
he bowed and not flinching from her black breath gave her his arm....
|
there, where you live, live: start over, everyman, with the algae of your dreams.
|
Meanwhile the angel, dressed for laughs as a plasterer,...
|
Do you mistake me? I am speaking of living,...
|
(1) Know the pinetrees. Know the orange dryness of sickness and death in needle and cone. Know them too in green health, those among whom your...
|
... asks what it's too late to ask: 'Where is my life? Where is my life? What have I done with my life?'
|