Fear / A Motor, / Pumps Me

You Who Have Inhabited Me In The Deepest And Most Broken Place, Are Going, Going

Being Kissed On The Back Of The Knee Is A Moth At The Windowscreen.

I Cannot Walk An Inch / Without Trying To Walk To God.

The Ground Has On Its Clothes. The Trees Poke Out Of Sheets And Each Branch Wears The Sock Of God.

Somebody Who Should Have Been Born Is Gone. Yes, Woman, Such Logic Will Lead To Loss Without Death. Or Say What You Meant, You Coward . . . This Baby That I Bleed.