scraps from fall/winter

when i look at you, i think 'i don't hate anything you say, and i hate so much these days'

even when i was making horrible mistakes, even then, i had a raw energy in my destruction. now my destruction is hidden. it is small and it is evil. it is a deeper dishonesty

love made me common and i can never forgive it for that

i saw in them what i did not want to come into: the inevitability of girlhood. i heard myself crying in my quiet pink gloom - felt like a lost angel, my soul misplaced by some forgetful god. i have not changed. still i sit in a rocking chair and rock and weep and stare blankly at walls. i remember so many walls that i have stared at for hours. every window i have looked out of

after the edges of life, it is only empty whiteness - it is only the long stretch of nothing before heaven. or blackness. in darkness at least there are shadows. whiteness illuminates all and makes it very clear that there is nothing wthin or beyond it.

in the white dawn, the earth lifts temporarily
in a crescendo of atonement
arms upswept like a fervent spirit
but arms grow tired, and the dawn comes down;
loves goes, as predictable as dusk.