December 2010
“The Black Art, by Anne Sexton”
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“Never loving ourselves, hating even our shoes and our hats, we love each other, precious, precious. Our hands are light blue and gentle. Our eyes are full of terrible confessions. But when we marry, the children leave in disgust. There is too much food and no one left over to eat up all the...
Charles Bukowski
I will remember your small roomthe feel of youthe light in the window your records your booksour morning coffee our noons our night sour bodies spilled together sleeping the tiny flowing currents immediate and forever your leg my leg your arm my arm your smile and the warmth of you who made me laugh again.
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