I Have Been Cut In Two.

As For Me, I Am A Watercolor. I Wash Off.

Yes, I Know. Death Sits With His Key In My Lock. Not One Day Is Taken For Granted. Even Nursery Rhymes Have Put Me In Hock.

O Fallen Angel, The Companion Within Me, Whisper Something Holy Before You Pinch Me Into The Grave.

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.

It Was As If A Morning-glory Had Bloomed In Her Throat, And All That Blue And Small Pollen Ate Into My Heart, Violent And Religious