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Let us think of God as a lover Who never calls, Whose pleasure in us is aroused In unrepeatable ways, God as body we cannot Separate from desire, Saying to us, “Your love Is only physical.” Let us think of God as a bronze With green skin Or a plane…
Teenagers and oldsters, married couples and lovers— it is eight in the evening and everyone is kissing. On park benches, on the grassy slopes of the hill, sitting on curbs, joined in cafés they are kissing. (I am not kissing; I am strolling along. If I want activity, I have my newspaper.) Why is the…
Innocent and earnest, good at marathons, the surgeon believed in his hands; he said he’d cut the tumor out, a convoluted unnatural thing wrapping its tentacles around the brain’s little house. Nothing more than architecture, then he paused: he knew about the maze, the puzzle. He put on his white clothes; over his entire being…
Amazing to believe that nothingness Surrounds us with delight and lets us be And that the meekness of nonentity, Despite the friction of the world of sense, Despite the leveling of violence, Is all that matters. All the energy We force into the match head and the city Explodes inside a loving emptiness. Not Dante’s…
When the giant panda views another of her species through a window, in a mirror, does she feel a little less lonely? I smile when I see another couple like us, though of course they aren’t like us, except for the contrast between white skin, and black. The year I turned twelve the way we…
Somebody almost walked off with all my stuff —Ntozake Shange at best you can say your judgment was tainted by movies and old expectations Paris equals passion n’est pas? so why not ride the subway just this one night despite all the echoes of caution dancin :…
She made some big changes that spring. The first one was moving out of David’s house in Beachwood Canyon and into a one-bedroom apartment in Park La Brea. “Old ladies live there,” was David’s comment. “I like old ladies,” she said. “Old ladies are quiet and considerate. They don’t have car phones, either.” “I’m at…
So much for the solid- gold musical taste of the age, upbeat, down and out, love- sick groans bawling from the suitcase-sized boom box riding the shoulder of a cholo in shades, webbed hairnet, flannel shirt buttoned to the neck in midsummer, pimp- strut rocking by on tip- toe past pairs of squat, unisex…
When the air is thin with frost I blow rings of ice smoke as I did when I was young and imagined myself grown and never answering to anyone. From smoke rings to pots that became helmets and tanks, I play-acted a world where color held no name and eyes were tears holding light. Without…
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