Sometimes a you is a lover, but he is not my lover. He is looking at me.
Merwin discovered and restored eighteen acres of abandoned land.
He handed us sticks of dynamite, rolled in wax paper like taffy.
Miss Moses smiled, I could take you, buster. Don’t try anything with me.
Jane’s made it clear, this Renuka might not even become a doctor.
I woke in surprise to your breath warm as your skin on my neck.
Your mother still glows with a smoothness that you envy.
He always talked of making money with the air of a connoisseur.
She was no man’s dark dream, only a girl forced to swim half-clothed.
She accused her husband with great drama of having destroyed her life.
To fulminate, to go on a tear, because what’s wanted is forbidden.
Our visions of the world fade like the morning star, lost in the light of day.
The child is too perfect to be human; too perfect, truthfully, to exist.
This storm scares me. A foreign climate occupies the land.
A man sits in the Institute of National Memory examining files.
I ask if you are all right until you can be nothing but not all right, not okay.
The stupider the president the more power you arrange for him.
I have heard stories of the river, how people were willing to die to cross it.
For two days I’ve been weeping over a nineteenth-century novel.
Six other guests smoked Marlboro Lights, and ashtrays filled up.
No fountains to quench the thirst between rounds of tag.
Derek was holding a gun. The barrel was pointed at his own temple.
I forgot to detail that the jumper leapt from beside the hanging Monet.
I bring out the emergency in people and I don’t know why.
I managed to talk sensible Alice into a little pink outfit and high heels.
Part of me wished I’d never tried heroin. The rest wanted to be high.