I Am Not At Home In Myself.

Bike Downtown, Stick Out Tongues At The Catholics. Or Form A Piss Club Where We All Go In The Bushes And Peek At Each Other's Sex.

The Grass As Bristly And Stout As Chives And Me Wondering When The Ground Will Break And Me Wondering How Anything Fragile Survives

And Tonight Our Skin, Our Bones, That Have Survived Our Fathers, Will Meet, Delicate In The Hold, Fastened Together In An Intricate Lock. Then One Of Us Will Shout, "my Need Is More Desperate!" And I Will Eat You Slowly With Kisses Even Though The Killer In You Has Gotten Out.

The Tongue, The Chinese Say, Is Like A Sharp Knife: It Kills Without Drawing Blood.

If The Doctors Cure Then The Sun Sees It. If The Doctors Kill Then The Earth Hides It. The Doctors Should Fear Arrogance More Than Cardiac Arrest.