Franz Wright Poems

You do look a little ill.

But we can do something about that, now.

Can’t we.

The fact is you’re a shocking wreck.
...

You are riding the bus again
burrowing into the blackness of Interstate 80,
the sole passenger

with an overhead light on.
...

And not to feel bad about dying.
Not to take it so personally—

it is only
the force we exert all our lives
...

Is there a single thing in nature
that can approach in mystery
the absolute uniqueness of any human face, first, then
its transformation from childhood to old age—
...

Pure gaze, you are lightning beyond the last trees
and you are the last trees’
past, branching
green lightning
...

If I stare into it long enough, the point comes when I don’t know what it’s called, a condition in which lacerations are liable to occur
...

It’s true I never write, but I would gladly die with you.
Gladly lower myself down alone with you into the enormous mouth
that waits, beyond youth, beyond every instant of ecstasy, remember:
...

From the third floor window
you watch the mailman’s slow progress
through the blowing snow.
As he goes from door to door
...

Morning arrives
unannounced
by limousine: the tall
emaciated chairman
...

The ingredients gathered, a few small red tufts of the dream spoor per sheaf of Demeter’s blonde wheat, reaped in mourning, in silence, ground up with the pollen and mixed into white wine and honey.
...