January 2011
14 posts
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Cleaners from Venus- Corridor of Dreams
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Steps
How funny you are today New York like Ginger Rogers in Swingtime and St. Bridget’s steeple leaning a little to the left here I have just jumped out of a bed full of V-days (I got tired of D-days) and blue you there still accepts me foolish and free all I want is a room up there and you in it and even the traffic halt so thick is a way for people to rub up against each other and when their...
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The Starry Night
That does not keep me from having a terrible need of—shall I say the word—religion. Then I go out at night to paint the stars. —Vincent Van Gogh in a letter to his brother
The town does not exist except where one black-haired tree slips up like a drowned woman into the hot sky. The town is silent. The night boils with eleven stars. Oh starry starry night! This is how I want to die.
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Prayer
Every day I want to speak with you. And every day something more important calls for my attention—the drug store, the beauty products, the luggage I need to buy for the trip. Even now I can hardly sit here among the falling piles of paper and clothing, the garbage trucks outside already screeching and banging. The mystics say you are as close as my own breath. Why do I flee from you? My days...
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Survivors
Some mornings I do not hear the alarm go off. The lightest touch will startle me awake, filling our bedroom with cries of birds. It’s not the hours spent in therapy, nor self- help books stacked beside our bed, that keep me up until four each night - it’s your body reeking of alcohol. Hold me like a dream that will dissolve, a childhood you never had. Go on sleeping while I count fifty...
Mother, I cannot mind my Wheel
MOTHER, I cannot mind my wheel; My fingers ache, my lips are dry: O, if you felt the pain I feel! But O, who ever felt as I?
No longer could I doubt him true– All other men may use deceit; He always said my eyes were blue, And often swore my lips were sweet. -Walter Savage Landor (1775-1864)
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The Salt Ecstasies
Salt me down where love was on a blue burn to remember the real pain. I’m worn out from my back’s arch and pull, bending like a crazy-house mirror to suit your needs in this endless flesh revolt, trying to win with my mouth and ass.
I want to be your yoke this time, pushing you away in the dusty light from gutting me to nothing, and stay drawn in, like an old girl after a hard...