Me—a book in the attic.
Maybe some covenant or hymnal.
Or a chapter from the Kama Sutra,
or a spell for intimate afflictions.
But then it seems I am none of these.
(If I were, someone would have read me.) ...
@5 months ago with 214 notes
When I know what people think of me
I am plunged into my loneliness. The grey
hat bought earlier sickens.
I have no purpose no longer distinguishable.
A feeling like being choked
enters my throat.
— Robert Creeley, “The End”
@5 months ago with 334 notes
And what is it to be young in years and suddenly wakened to the anguish, the urgency of life?
—Susan Sontag, Reborn: Journals and Notebooks, 1947-1963