Take Your Foot Out Of The Graveyard,

God Went Out Of Me As If The Sea Dried Up Like Sandpaper, As If The Sun Became A Latrine.

Our Eyes Are Full Of Terrible Confessions.

The Tongue, The Chinese Say, Is Like A Sharp Knife: It Kills Without Drawing Blood.

The Beautiful Feeling After Writing A Poem Is On The Whole Better Even Than After Sex, And That's Saying A Lot.

There Is Rust In My Mouth,the Stain Of An Old Kiss.