a girl who keeps slipping off,
arms limp as old carrots,
into the hypnotist's trance,
as black as a hook,
took, at 8: 00 A.M., a baby
riding your merry-go-round
right to the roots,
You said the anger would come back
just as the love did.
I have a black look I do not
Roach, foulest of creatures,
who attacks with yellow teeth
and an army of cousins big as shoes,
Surely I will be disquieted
by the hospital, that body zone-
bodies wrapped in elastic bands,
I was tired of being a woman,
tired of the spoons and the post,
tired of my mouth and my breasts
Put on a clean shirt
before you die, some Russian said.
Nothing with drool, please,
no egg spots
Loving me with my shoes off
means loving my long brown legs,
sweet dears, as good as spoons;
My doctor, the comedian
I called you every time
and made you laugh yourself
when I wrote this sil
Watch out for power,
for its avalanche can bury you,
snow, snow, snow, smothering your mountain.
You always read about it:
the plumber with the twelve children
who wins the Irish Sweepstakes.
Oh, love, why do we argue like this?
I am tired of all your pious talk.
Also, I am tired of all t
It is in the small things we see it.
The child's first step,
as awesome as an earthquake.
'Angels of the love affair, do you know that other,
the dark one, that other me? '
1. ANGEL OF
Busy, with an idea for a code, I write
signals hurrying from left to right,
or right to left, by
(from a song)
Perhaps I was born kneeling,
born coughing on the long winter,
Anna who was mad,
I have a knife in my armpit.
When I stand on tiptoe I tap out messages.
Am I s
Until tonight they were separate specialties,
different stories, the best of their own worst.
Listen here. I've never played it safe
in spite of what the critics say.
Ask my imaginary brother,
Father, this year's jinx rides us apart
where you followed our mother to her cold slumber;
You are the roast beef I have purchased
and I stuff you with my very own onion.
You are a boat I
It's in the heart of the grape
where that smile lies.
It's in the good-bye-bow in the hair
In my dream,
drilling into the marrow
of my entire bone,
my real dream,
I'm walking up and d
A born salesman,
my father made all his dough
by selling wool to Fieldcrest, Woolrich and Faribo
Oh sharp diamond, my mother!
I could not count the cost
of all your faces, your moods-