P.S.
I close my eyes and see a seagull in the desert high, against unbearably blue sky. There is hope in the past. I’m writing to you all the time, I am writing with both hands, day and night.
4 tygodnie temu
Cloudless Snowfall
Great big flakes like white ashes at nightfall descending abruptly everywhere and vanishing in this hand like the host on somebody’s put-out tongue, she turns the crucifix over to me, still warm from her touch two years later and thank you, I say all alone—…
4 tygodnie temu
To Myself
You are riding the bus again burrowing into the blackness of Interstate 80, the sole passenger with an overhead light on. And I am with you. I’m the interminable fields you can’t see,…
4 tygodnie temu
The Poem
It was like getting a love letter from a tree Eyes closed forever to find you— There is a life which if I could have it I would have chosen for myself from the beginning
4 tygodnie temu
After Apollinaire
for Eric Lorberer It’s four o’clock in the afternoon, and it is finished; I sit back and light my cigarette on a ray of dusk. I don’t want to write anymore. All I want to do is smoke.
4 tygodnie temu