I tied down time with a rope but it came back. Then I put my head in a death bowl and my eyes shut up like clams. They didn't come back.
There is no word for time. Today we will not think to number another summer or watch its white bird into the ground.
When someone kisses someone or flushes the toilet it is my other who sits in a ball and cries. My other beats a tin drum in my heart. My other hangs up laundry as I try to sleep. My other cries and cries and cries when I put on a cocktail dress.
I burn the way money burns.
I want to kiss God on His nose and watch Him sneeze and so do you. Not out of disrespect. Out of pique. Out of a man-to-man thing.
To die whole, riddled with nothing but desire for it, is like breakfast after love.
Please God, we're all right here. Please leave us alone. Don't send death in his fat red suit and his ho-ho baritone.
I must always forget how one word is able to pick out another, to manner another, until I have got something I might have said... but did not.
think of innocent Icarus who is doing quite well: larger than a sail, over the fog and the blast of the plushy ocean, he goes. Admire his wings!
I said, the poets are there I hear them singing and lying around their round table and around me still.
My objects dream and wear new costumes, compelled to, it seems, by all the words in my hands and the sea that bangs in my throat.
There is an animal inside me, clutching fast to my heart, a huge crab.
The family story tells, and it was told true, of my great-grandfather who begat eight genius children and bought twelve almost new grand pianos. He left a considerable estate when he died.
If you meet a cross-eyed person you must plunge into the grass, alongside the chilly ants, fish through the green fingernails and come up with the four-leaf clover.
I have a black look I do not like. It is a mask I try on. I migrate toward it and its frog sits on my lips and defecates.
Despite my asbestos gloves, the cough is filling me with black, and a red powder seeps through my veins.
I, in my brand new body, which was not a woman's yet, told the stars my questions and thought God could really see the heat and the painted light, elbows, knees, dreams, goodnight.
The future is a fog that is still hanging out over the sea, a boat that floats home or does not. The trade winds blow me, and I do not know where the land is; the waves fold over each other; they are in love with themselves; sleeping in their own skin; and I float over them and I do not know about tomorrow.
Look to your heart that flutters in and out like a moth. God is not indifferent to your need. You have a thousand prayers but God has one.
sorrow is easier than guilt.
Letters are false really - they are expressions of the way you wish you were instead of the way you are.
I suffer for birds and fireflies but not frogs, she said, and threw him across the room. Kaboom! Like a genie out of a samovar, a handsome prince arose in the corner of the bedroom.
I am your dwarf. I am the enemy within. I am the boss of your dreams. See. Your hand shakes. It is not palsy or booze. It is your Doppelganger trying to get out. Beware...Beware...
Women tell time by the body. They are like clocks. They are always fastened to the earth, listening for its small animal noises.
I was only sitting here in my white study with the awful black words pushing me around.
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