«To fall, like an apple, no mind, / no memory! To lie / on the soft ground, blank as an apple, / to not feel this body. An apple: muscles of moisture, / veins of color, all sorts of changes / crowding each other out. / The apple doesn’t care. Hopeless to care here, / it’s war, who...»
«March: at last / things start to break up: / I want to praise every twig, / every simple drop. but my words that were bright / and flew, are dead. The blue- / gray dictionary / is their garden now: the black wound in my throat / can t even break open to cry. / I stare at the snow, ...»
«And finally I’ll say goodbye. / Don’t feel you have to love. / I’m chattering, crazy, / or maybe coming into a crazier kind of peace. How you loved! Your lips just grazing over disaster, / tasting nothing. But that doesn’t matter. / How you loved! How you destroyed! / Offhandedl...»
«We’re mired by thirst for sacred things – / Through gloomy desert did I wander, / And then the seraph with six wings / To me appeared at crossroads yonder. / I felt his dainty fingers’ graze, / As in a dream, my pupils’ haze: / Now opened prophet’s eyes enlightened / Like tho...»