The Blood Jet Is Poetry And There

Can A Selfish Egocentric Jealous And Unimaginative Female Write A Damn Thing Worthwhile?

I Must Be Lean & Write & Make Worlds Beside This To Live In.

Let Me Live, Love And Say It Well In Good Sentences.

People Or Stars Regard Me Sadly, I Disappoint Them.

Maybe Forgetfulness, Like A Kind Snow, Should Numb And Cover Them. But They Were A Part Of Me. They Were My Landscape.