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John Ashbery

Late Echo Alone with our madness and favorite flower We see that there really is nothing left to write about. Or rather, it is necessary to write about the same old things In the same way, repeating the same things over and over For love to continue and be gradually different. Beehives and ants have… Continue reading John Ashbery

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Anne Sexton

I feel unspeakably lonely. And I feel – drained. It is a blank state of mind and soul I cannot describe to you as I think it would not make any difference. —  Anne Sexton, A Self-Portrait in Letters. (Mariner Books October 1, 2004) Originally published January 1st 1977.

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Gregory Orr

Resurrection of the body of the beloved, Which is the world.                                Which is the poem Of the world, the poem of the body. Mortal ourselves and filled with awe, We gather the scattered limbs Of Osiris.                  That he should live again. That death not be oblivion. — Gregory Orr, from “Part One” of… Continue reading Gregory Orr

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Muriel Rukeyser

A beach of dream before the smoking mirror. You are close to that surf, and the leaves heated by noon, and the star-ax, the miner’s glitter walls. The crests of the sea Are the same strength you wake with, the darkness is the eyes of children forming for a blaze of sight and soon, soon,… Continue reading Muriel Rukeyser

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