It's nice to have someone write a couture character for you.
Oh, darling, let your body in, let it tie you in, in comfort.
Poems aren't postcards to send home.
There is rust in my mouth,the stain of an old kiss.
It's a little mad, but I believe I am many people. When I am writing a poem, I feel I am the person who should have written it.
If I could blame it on all the mothers and fathers of the world, they of the lessons, the pellets of power, they of the love surrounding you like batter. . . Blame it on God perhaps? He of the first opening that pushed us all into our first mistakes? No, I'll blame it on Man For Man is God and man is eating the earth up like a candy bar and not one of them can be left alone with the ocean for it is known he will gulp it all down. The stars (possibly) are safe. At least for the moment. The stars are pears that no one can reach, even for a wedding. Perhaps for a death.
I would like a simple life yet all night I am laying poems away in a long box.
Hollywood is still the cradle of many myths, including the one of eternal youth. I find it odd that the very notion of desire, when applied to a woman over 40, is turned into a pathology or a mockery in a number of films. But Hollywood is not the only place to blame, by far. This is just a rendition, possibly magnified by the power of movies, of a general state of things, social, cultural and political.
First publication is a pure, carnal leap into that dark which one dreams is life.
My first job. I got fired from this MTV prank show, or I didn't make the cut of what ended up being, as we all know, Boiling Points. It was my first professional job and I was bragging.
It is astonishing to realize that until Galileo performed his experiments on the acceleration of gravity in the early seventeenth century, nobody questioned Aristotle's falling balls. Nobody said, Show Me!