How Can You Be So Many Women

There Ought, I Thought, To Be A Ritual For Being Born Twice - Patched, Retreaded And Approved For The Road.

The Blood Of Love Welled Up In My Heart With A Slow Pain.

I Never Feel So Much Myself As When I'm In A Hot Bath.

Piece By Piece, I Fed My Wardrobe To The Night Wind, And Flutteringly, Like A Loved One’s Ashes, The Gray Scraps Were Ferried Off, To Settle Here, There, Exactly Where I Would Never Know, In The Dark Heart Of New York.

The Artist's Life Nourishes Itself On The Particular, The Concrete.