#AmericanWriters
With only his dim lantern To tell him where he is And every time a mountain Of fresh corpses to load up Take them to the other side
On the first page of my dreambook It’s always evening In an occupied country. Hour before the curfew. A small provincial city.
Of the light in my room: Its mood swings, Dark-morning glooms, Summer ecstasies. Spider on the wall,
In my great grandmother’s time, All one needed was a broom To get to see places And give the geese a chase in the… •
Where it says snow read teeth-marks of a virgin Where it says knife read you passed through my bones like a police-whistle
The night still frightens you. You know it is interminable And of vast, unimaginable dimensio… “That’s because His insomnia is p… You’ve read some mystic say.
How much death works, No one knows what a long Day he puts in. The little Wife always alone Ironing death’s laundry.
I liked my little hole, Its window facing a brick wall. Next door there was a piano. A few evenings a month a crippled old man came to play
Shoes, secret face of my inner lif… Two gaping toothless mouths, Two partly decomposed animal skins Smelling of mice-nests. My brother and sister who died at…
They arrive inside They object at evening. There’s no one to meet them. The lamps they carry Cast their shadows
This last continent Still to be discovered. My hand is dreaming, is building Its ship. For crew it takes A pack of bones, for food
A world’s disappearing. Little street, You were too narrow, Too much in the shade already. You had only one dog,
One shows me how to lie down in a… Another how to slip my hand under… Another how to kiss with a mouth f… Another how to catch fireflies in… Here is a stable with a single bla…
Here come my night thoughts On crutches, Returning from studying the heaven… What they thought about Stayed the same,
You must come to them sideways In rooms webbed in shadow, Sneak a view of their emptiness Without them catching A glimpse of you in return.