Drunk Bitch dreams of a luminous stream / & pisses herself. Drunk Bitch drops her drink in the lap / of a slightly less drunk body & is sure she's found love / in his smiling shrug
Second books can be as different from their predecessors as Plath’s fiery originality of Ariel is distinct from the coolly conventional poise of The Colossus...
We moved on low power since the noise neutralizers haven’t thawed from everything. We found rudimentary structures seemingly abandoned...
Why did he shape my brother’s body to the contours of war? Is this the shape of all our language already?
Of course Sarla’s story became its own thing as it was being written, and a much more personal voice emerged. And for me, personal voices are problematic...
...here / in the ocean caves where we breathe air, / sweet air, dewy with imprints of the shark / crimes, where the waves carry long lost envelopes
Some nights inside the caterwaul of coyotes / the telephone rings, very late or very early. / Then my father walks out into darkness. / My mother still sleeping / and I am.
I am at my threshold. / The dirt of our daughter. / The mole of her squirming body.
is an international idea
and a historical fact
and a little piece of our youth
like a stallion which stood about for some years
standing still within those some years
(with muscles and veins full of warm hot blood)
$138,000 into the story, there is nowhere else to go. I spent my twenty-seventh year typing letters of application, the nerves in each hand wrecked by…
156,000 into the story, the room is empty. The man I have started dating listens to my stories of how the dinners at the American Academy would unfold,…