Cinderella and the prince lived, they say, happily ever after, like two dolls in a museum case never bothered by diapers or dust, never arguing over the timing of an egg, never telling the same story twice.
I'm the crazy one who thinks that words reach people.
I try to take care and be gentle to them. Words and eggs must be handled with care. Once broken they are impossible things to repair.
All day I've built a lifetime and now the sun sinks to undo it.
You must be a poet, a lady of evil luck desiring to be what you are not, longing to be what you can only visit.
The snow has quietness in it; no songs, no smells, no shouts or traffic. When I speak my own voice shocks me.
Sometimes I fly like an eagle but with the wings of a wren
She is so naked and singular. She is the sum of yourself and your dream. Climb her like a monument, step after step. She is solid.
Let God be some tribal female who is known but forbidden.
It is June. I am tired of being brave.
I would like a simple life / yet all night I am laying / poems away in a long box.
A woman / who loves a woman / is forever young.
Don't bite till you know if it's bread or stone.
I am so imperfect, can you love me when really my soul is deformed? Will you love me anyhow?
Poetry is my life, my postmark, my hands, my kitchen, my face.
Rocks crumble, make new forms, oceans move the continents, mountains rise up and down like ghosts yet all is natural, all is change.
To tell the truth days are all the same size and words aren't much company.
Psychiatry is a dirty mirror.
To love another is somethinglike prayer and it can't be planned, you just fallinto its arms because your belief undoes your disbelief.
this is no dream just my oily life where the people are alibis and the street is unfindable for an entire lifetime.
Poetry to me is prayer.
I would like to bury all the hating eyes under the sand somewhere.
I think it will be a miracle if I don't someday end up killing myself.
Writers are such phonies: they sometimes have wise insights but they don't live by them at all. That's what writers are like...you think they know something, but usually they are just messes.
The stars are pears that no one can reach, even for a wedding. Perhaps for a death.
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