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A Night Without Armor: Poems by Jewel Kilcher

By Jewel Kilcher

I have discovered that no longer all poetry lends itself to song -- a few options have to be sung merely opposed to the silence. There are softer and no more tangible part[s] of our selves which are so necessary to peace, to openheartedness, to unfolding the imaginative and prescient and the non secular realm of our lives, to exposing our souls. - Jewel, From the Preface Writing poems and maintaining journals considering that adolescence, Jewel has been looking for fact and that means, turning to her phrases to checklist, to find, and to mirror. In an evening with out Armor, her first number of poetry, Jewel explores the fireplace of past love, the fading of ardour, the giving of belief, the teachings of betrayal, and the therapeutic of intimacy.She delves into issues of the house, the relaxation of family members, the wonderful thing about Alaska, and the dislocation of divorce. after which there are the pictures of the line, the folk, the bars, the planes, locations unique and mundane, loneliness and friendship. Frank and sincere, severe and abruptly playful, an evening with out Armor is a skilled artist's intimate portrait of what makes us uniquely human.

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43 Dylan I had a dream last night that a little girl came to me. Her hair was a halo of warm light and color dripped off her tongue She was your daughter and in her I saw the fruit of everything I'd ever fought for or believed in, or dreamt of. 44 Vincent Said Vincent said she was like screwing a corpse, but a l6-year-old corpse with young tits, so it wasn't bad. She left the door open while he pretended to be asleep and did the walk o' shame through the hotel lobby. I know his girlfriend, Phyllis, but I won't tell her.

A humid claw clings to me, every movement anticipated by this moist air, this Asian sky with its endless fields yawning unseen beneath it. Somewhere out there, an overhead is spinning, ticking, rattling. A young girl sweats, her armpits like tidy rosebuds. The businessman from Hong Kong pretends to have fallen asleep while she washes herself in the sink, the night sticking to her insides in a way she can't wash off. Iai lei 3 A warm rain swept across the streets. Filling spaces with humid quiet.

24 Father of a Deaf Girl Every time her hands began to stutter he became enraged. She threw these fits sometimes, and he never took the time to understand what they meant. Her words were wasted on him. Her hands useless birds caged by their quietness, and he would immobilize them, tying her wrists together so they'd j u m p like awkward fish, gasping at the shock of air. Un-heard they'd dance like that for hours, her eyes full of silent desperation, on the other side of the closet door. He never even knew what they were saying.

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