I Can Only Sign Over Everything, The

Put Your Mouthful Of Words Away And Come With Me To Watch The Lilies Open In Such A Field, Growing There Like Yachts, Slowly Steering Their Petals Without Nurses Or Clocks.

The Body Is A Damn Hard Thing To Kill.

I Lay There Silently, Hoarding My Small Dignity. I Did Not Ask About The Gate Or The Closet. I Did Not Question The Bedtime Ritual Where, On The Cold Bathroom Tiles, I Was Spread Out Daily And Examined For Flaws. I Did Not Know That My Bones, Those Solids, Those Pieces Of Sculpture Would Not Splinter.

I Suffer For Birds And Fireflies But Not Frogs, She Said, And Threw Him Across The Room. Kaboom! Like A Genie Out Of A Samovar, A Handsome Prince Arose In The Corner Of The Bedroom.

Somebody Who Should Have Been Born Is Gone.