My Faith Is A Great Weight Hung

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

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

Craft Is A Trick You Make Up To Let You Write The Poem.

And The Aura Of You Remains, Remains, Remains...

Death, I Need My Little Addiction To You. I Need That Tiny Voice Who, Even As I Rise From The Sea, All Woman, All There, Says Kill Me, Kill Me.