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| His mouth worked. "I robbed a cash register in a service station." She moved to the next man. "I tried to take my little sister to bed." Her eyes clicked to the next man; each one jumped like a shooting-gallery target. "I--one time--wanted to take my brother to bed." "I killed my cat when I was six. Oh God, forgive me, I stoned her to death and said my neighbor did it." "I lied about trying. I did take my sister!" "So did I! So did I!" "And me! And me!" It was better than she'd dreamed. They were all shouting to outdo one another, going furthur and furthur, no way of stopping, telling things that wouldn't ever let them look one another in the eye again. The nurse nodding at each confession and saying Yes, Yes, Yes. Then old Pete was on his feet. "I'm tired" was what he shouted, a strong, angry coppper tone to his voice that no one had ever heard before. Everyone hushed. They were somehow ashamed. It was as uf he had suddenly said something that was real and true and important and it as put all their childish hollering to shame. The Big Nurse was furious. She swiveled and glared at him, the smile dripping over her chin; she'd just jad it going so good. |
| She had not heard him enter, and hardly realized his presence there. She was yawming, and he saw the red interior of her mouth as if it had been a snake's. She had stretched one arm so high above her coiled-up cable of hair that he could see its satin delicacy above the sunburn: her face was flushed with sleep, and her eyelids hung heavy over her pupils. The brimfulness of her nature breathed from her. |
Cebolla luminosa redoma pétalo a pétalo se formo tu hermosura, escamas de cristal te acrecentaron y en el secreto de la tierra oscura se redondeó tu vientre de rocio Bajo la tierra fue el milágro y cuando apareció tu torpe tallo verde, y nacieron tus hojas, como espadas en el huerto -Neruda
The tomatoes in Spain are juicy red seeds spilling out, nectar spouting forth skin against succulent pulp, Loose. But the tomatoes here are tight, white Like skin stretched across bones and faces smiles stretched, synthetic, angular jaws, sharp. The Spanish are fleshy, juice growing fat. Hot summer days on porches sweat dripping on the skin feeding it, as it grows fleshy. Laughter bubbling, spouting forth And eating tomatoes. But we are bony, all sharp edges and hollow shadows. Humid summer days, absorbing the synthetic air, our skin starving, soon growing thin. Prose dull and dry, sticking in our throughts. There are no juicy red tomatoes to eat.
Glamis thou art and Cawdor, and shalt be What thou art promised. Yet do I fear thy nature. It is too full o' the milk of human kindness To catch the nearest way. Thouh wouldst be great; Art not without ambition, but without The illness should attend it. what thou wouldst highly, That wouldst thou holily; wouldst not play false, And yet wouldst wrongly win. Thou'ldst have, great Glamis, That which cries "Thus thou must do," if thou have it; And that which rather dost fear to do Than wishest should be undone. Hie thee hither, That I may pour my spirits in thine ear And chastise with the valor of my tongue All that impedes thee from the golden round Which fate and metaphysical aid doth seem To have thee crowned withal(a messanger comes, out of breath, and says that Duncan, the king, comes shortly to MacBeth's castle)
The raven himslef is horse that croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan Under my battlements. Come, you spirits That tend on mortal thought, unsex me here, And fill me, from the crown to the toe, top-full Of direst cruelty! Make thick my blood; Stop up the access and passage to remorse, That no compunctious visitings of nature Shake my fell purpose nor keep peace between The effect and it! Come to my woman's breasts And take my milk for gall, you murd'ring ministers, Wherever in your sightless substances you wait on nature's mischief! Come thick night, And pall thee in the dunnest smoke of hell, That my keen knife see not the wound it makes, Nor heaven peep through the blanket if the dark To cry "Hold, hold!"
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