Poems Aren't Postcards To Send Home.

Women Are Born Twice.

My Death From The Wrists, Two Name Tags, Blood Worn Like A Corsage To Bloom One On The Left And One On The Right.

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

... And My Love Stays Bitterly Glowing, Spasms Of It Will Not Sleep, And I Am Helpless And Thirsty And Need Shade But There Is No One To Cover Me- Not Even God.

I Want To Kiss God On His Nose And Watch Him Sneeze And So Do You. Not Out Of Disrespect. Out Of Pique. Out Of A Man-to-man Thing.