Here, a pretty line from Marilyn Hacker’s piece “Poète Maudite”: There are lines of yours I know by heart. / There are scents of yours soaked in my skin.

“Heart”, Dorianne Laux

Heart with its hundred mouths open. / Heart with its hundred eyes closed. Mainly for those lines.

“Edward Hopper Study: Hotel Room”, Victoria Chang

I think this is cool, though it doesn’t have much hold over me. Here’s the painting in reference: Edward Hopper’s “Hotel Room”. I like the ending here though, what is trying to be communicated somewhat ekphrastically, though it’s not hitting me well: That is all the artist left us with, knowing we would turn the woman’s stone into ours, a thirst for the self in everything–even in the sweet chinks of mandarin.
Even though not well done, I like this sentiment a lot. This is why reading poetry holds me. Not knowing how to air this thirst is where poetry loses a lot of people, I think–to all my friends who don’t always see what I see in it.

Civil Service, Claire Schwartz

I liked some poems someone posted from this, but they are not named in words and so I cannot really reference nor recreate them. They are good though. I come to language having been expelled from your body. And Every time I write I, I am trying to get back to you. Etc.