Give me your skin as sheer as a cobweb, let me open it up and listen in and scoop out the dark.
O starry night, This is how I want to die
And if I tried to give you something else, something outside myself, you would not know that the worst of anyone can be, finally, an accident of hope
I like you; your eyes are full of language." [Letter to Anne Clarke, July 3, 1964.]
But my future is a secret. / It is as shy as a mole.
The fish are naked. The fish are always awake. They are the color of old spoons and caramels.
Today God gives milk / and I have the pail.
... man is eating the earth up like a candy bar.
I grow old on my bitterness.
When the cow gives blood and the Christ is born we must all eat sacrifices. We must all eat beautiful women.
Take your foot out of the graveyard, they are busy being dead.
And we are magic talking to itself, noisy and alone. I am queen of all my sins forgotten. Am I still lost? Once I was beautiful. Now I am myself
The grass as bristly and stout as chives and me wondering when the ground will break and me wondering how anything fragile survives
women are born twice.
Home is my Bethlehem, my succoring shelter, my mental hospital, my wife, my dam, my husband, my sir, my womb, my skull.
All in all, I'd say, the world is strangling.
Need is not quite belief.
Once I was a couple. I was my own king and queen with cheese and bread and rosé on the rocks of Rockport.
Not that it was beautiful, but that I found some order there.
There is hope. There is hope everywhere. Today God give milk and I have the pail.
Loving me with my shoes off means loving my long brown legs, sweet dears, as good as spoons; and my feet, those two children let out to play naked.
Take adultery or theft. Merely sins. It is evil who dines on the soul, stretching out its long bone tongue. It is evil who tweezers my heart, picking out its atomic worms.
It was as if a morning-glory had bloomed in her throat, and all that blue and small pollen ate into my heart, violent and religious
I'm an empress. I wear an apron. My typewriter writes. It didn't break the way it warned. Even crazy, I'm as nice as a chocolate bar.
My life has appeared unclothed in court, detail by detail, death-bone witness by death-bone witness, and I was shamed at the verdict.
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