Am meisten gelesen ▸
Dave Bonta
a moth cannot consider
what life she will lead
like my words let go at last
but not lost to the night
where I am done
as the sea by a great calm
what words would break me
will I think them enemies
we loved in the fewest words
fickly
demandable
loath to speak with one mouth
red and full of evening
oysters defeat me
and years inks little hopes
any rose without enemies
like instructions for melancholy
that make us perfectly happy
but whisper some hard word
just as we go
I bit into a kind word
there had been nothing to dine on in the house
and it was a treat
the great dark ink of it
water of many places
these words come with arms
and damn us to remember
but not to be faithful
doctors’ words bled meaning
out of a quiet tongue
it bled red and we were glad
to be rid of it
the plain word a mouth says
is the most extraordinary thing
this grave I occupy
you may have after me
by accident or angel
like a long last word
I could not say and so
must be
the first word was oh
then presently you
is now any better
with my mind full
and vexed
angry words go out
in a dead mouth
we have been thin paper
in the rough
draft of our lives
our greatest word
is like a contract
for our share of coal
to argue mightily with little reason
I pretend to know
whether I do or not
a word too low to hear
went forth with me into the woods
like a cool furniture of air
I read word as world
that ledge of a letter
like the interstice between
the swallow and the air