Emotions and Feelings

And you want to travel with her And you want to travel blind And you know that she will trust you For you’ve touched her perfect body with your mind.

Walk it slow where you go walk it slow… We in the world Poor as dirt Somebody’ll get hurt the world is black the world is green the world is red, yellow, brown the world is mean

Walk it slow where you go walk it slow… We in the world Poor as dirt Somebody’ll get hurt the world is black the world is green the world is red, yellow, brown the world is mean

I come into the peace of wild things who do not tax their lives with forethought of grief.

Saturday mornings we listened to Red Lantern & his undersea folk. At 11, Let’s Pretend / & we did / & I, the poet, still do, Thank God!

Lately, I’ve become accustomed to the way The ground opens up and envelops me Each time I go out to walk the dog.

Every woman adores a Fascist, The boot in the face, the brute Brute heart of a brute like you.

I have always been scared of you, With your Luftwaffe, your gobbledygoo. And your neat mustache And your Aryan eye, bright blue. Panzer-man, panzer-man, O You—

I have always been scared of you, With your Luftwaffe, your gobbledygoo. And your neat mustache And your Aryan eye, bright blue. Panzer-man, panzer-man, O You—

You do not do, you do not do Any more, black shoe In which I have lived like a foot For thirty years, poor and white, Barely daring to breathe or Achoo.

You do not do, you do not do Any more, black shoe In which I have lived like a foot For thirty years, poor and white, Barely daring to breathe or Achoo.

What a thrill— My thumb instead of an onion.

Out of the ash I rise with my red hair And I eat men like air.

Dying Is an art, like everything else. I do it exceptionally well. I do it so it feels like hell. I do it so it feels real. I guess you could say I’ve a call.

I have done it again.

I took a deep breath and listened to the old brag of my heart.

A living doll, everywhere you look. It can sew, it can cook, It can talk, talk, talk…. My boy, it’s your last resort. Will you marry it, marry it, marry it.

When I am an old woman I shall wear purple With a red hat which doesn’t go, and doesn’t suit me.

It is still beautiful to feel your heart throbbing. But often the shadow feels more real than the body.

The rat is in the trap, it is in the trap, And attacking heaven and earth with a mouthful of screeches like torn tin.

When she introduces me to her parents back straightened, hair finally combed, strangled by a tie, should I sit knees together on their 3rd degree sofa and not ask Where’s the bathroom?

My visionary anger cleansing my sight.

A thinking woman sleeps with monsters. The beak that grips her, she becomes.

Beauty is a simple passion, but, oh my friends, in the end you will dance the fire dance in iron shoes.