I’m Lost. And It’s My Own Fault.

I Would Like To Think That No One Would Die Anymore If We All Believed In Daisies But The Worms Know Better, Don't They? They Slide Into The Ear Of A Corpse And Listen To His Great Sigh.

My Ideas Are A Curse. They Spring From A Radical Discontent With The Awful Order Of Things. I Play Clown. I Play Carpenter. I Play Nurse. I Play Witch.

I Would Like A Simple Life / Yet All Night I Am Laying / Poems Away In A Long Box.

Women Tell Time By The Body. They Are Like Clocks. They Are Always Fastened To The Earth, Listening For Its Small Animal Noises.

Being Sixteen In The Pants I Died Full Of Questions