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- 思前想ࡧ posted on 11/17/2003
- xwzili posted on 10/20/2003Since you ask, most days I cannot remember.I walk in my clothing, unmarked by that voyage.Then the most unnameable lust returns. ἰѾ ⲽԼ½ ˵ȴѷEven then I have nothing against life.I know well the grass blades you mentionthe furniture you have placed under the sun. һ֪ݸļ ļ˽ But suicides have a special language.Like carpenters they want to know which tools.They ne
- 3. I Remember By the first of August the invisible beetles began to snore and the grass was as tough as hemp and was no color - no more than the sand was a color and we had worn our bare feet bare since the twentieth of June and there were times we forgot to wind up your alarm clock and some nights we took our gin warm and neat from old jelly glasses while the sun blew out of sight like a red picture hat and one day I tied my hair back with a ribbon and you said that I looked almost like a puritan lady and
- xwzili posted on 11/18/2003
- 思前想ࡧ posted on 11/17/2003
- zili posted on 11/15/2003Love Letter Not easy to state the change you made. If I'm alive now, then I was dead, Though, like a stone, unbothered by it, Staying put according to habit. You didn't just tow me an inch, no- Nor leave me to set my small bald eye Skyward again, without hope, of course, Of apprehending blueness, or stars. ĸı̸ס һţôΪȥ Ȼһʯ˺أ Ծɳִ̬Ȼϰ 㲻ܰקһ磬 ҲңŴɵС۾
- xw posted on 11/03/2003
- bbeethovennbbeethovenn posted on 11/02/2003
- ³ posted on 11/03/2003
- drinking玛雅 posted on 10/31/2003
- drinkingmaya posted on 10/20/2003
- xwxw posted on 10/27/2003
- bbeethovennbbeethovenn posted on 10/28/2003
- xw posted on 10/22/2003
- zili posted on 10/21/2003
- zili posted on 10/22/2003
- ³ posted on 10/20/2003
- zili posted on 10/20/2003Fourteen Poems by Anne Sexton Set by John Mitchell (1941-), op. 114 (2002) Texts by Anne Sexton (1928-1974) -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 1. The starry night The town does not exist except where one black-haired tree slips up like a drowned woman into the hot sky. The town is silent. The night boils with eleven stars. Oh starry starry night! This is how I want to die. It moves. They are all alive. Even the moon bulge
- maya posted on 10/20/2003ϲСʫͷһо֪Ϭ Since you ask, most days I cannot remember. I walk in my clothing, unmarked by that voyage. Then the most unnameable lust returns. Even then I have nothing against life. I know well the grass blades you mention the furniture you have placed under the sun. But suicides have a special language. Like carpenters they want to know which tools. They never ask why build. Twice I have so simply declared myself have possessed the enemy, eate
- ³ posted on 10/19/2003
- xw posted on 10/17/2003
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