Masks are the order of the day - and the least I can do is cultivate the illusion that I am gay, serene, not hollow and afraid.
Miracles occur,If you dare to call those spasmodicTricks of radiance miracles. The wait's begun again,
Perhaps you considered yourself an oracle, Mouthpiece of the dead, or of some god or other.Thirty years now I have laboredTo dredge the silt from your throat.I am none the wiser.
Secretly, in studies and attics and schoolrooms all over America, people must be writing.
So, now I shall talk every night. To myself. To the moon… I talk to myself and look at the dark trees, blessedly neutral. So much easier than facing people, than having to look happy, invulnerable, cl...
That's one of the reasons I never wanted to get married. The last thing I wanted was infinite security and to be the place an arrow shoots off from. I wanted change and excitement and to shoot off in...
The bell jar hung, suspended, a few feet above my head. I was open to the circulating air.
The blood of love welled up in my heart with a slow pain.
The floor seemed wonderfully solid. It was comforting to know I had fallen and could fall no farther.
The silence depressed me. It wasn't the silence of silence. It was my own silence. I knew perfectly well the cars were making noise, and the people in them and behind the lit windows of the buildings...
The sky leans on me, me, the one upright among all horizontals.
The slime of all my yesterdays rots in the hollow of my skull.
The trouble was, I had been inadequate all along, I simply hadn't thought about it.
There is a chargeFor the eyeing of my scars, there is a chargeFor the hearing of my heart - It really goes.And there is a charge, a very large charge,For a word or a touchOr a bit of bloodOr a piece o...
Today is the first of August. It is hot, steamy and wet. It is raining. I am tempted to write a poem. But I remember what it said on one rejection slip: 'After a heavy rainfall, poems titled 'Rain' po...
We'll act as if all this were a bad dream.A bad dream.To the person in the bell jar, blank and stopped as a dead baby, the world itself is the bad dream.A bad dream.I remembered everything.I remembere...
I wait and ache.
Life was not to be sitting in hot amorphic leisure in my backyard idly writing or not-writing, as the spirit moved me. It was, instead, running madly, in a crowded schedule, in a squirrel cage of busy...
My flesh winced, in cowardice, from such a death.
Now I know what loneliness is, I think. Momentary loneliness, anyway. It comes from a vague core of the self - - like a disease of the blood, dispersed throughout the body so that one cannot locate th...
Showing 341 to 360 of 600 results