The Saints Come, As Human As A

All I Am Is The Trick Of Words Writing Themselves.

The Day Of Fire Is Coming, The Thrush Will Fly Ablaze Like A Little Sky Rocket.

With This Pen I Take In Hand My Selves And With These Dead Disciples I Will Grapple. Though Rain Curses The Window Let The Poem Be Made.

As It Has Been Said: Love And A Cough Cannot Be Concealed. Even A Small Cough. Even A Small Love.

The Witch's Life" When I Was A Child There Was An Old Woman In Our Neighborhood Whom We Called The Witch. All Day She Peered From Her Second Story Window From Behind The Wrinkled Curtains And Sometimes She Would Open The Window And Yell: Get Out Of My Life! She Had Hair Like Kelp And A Voice Like A Boulder. I Think Of Her Sometimes Now And Wonder If I Am Becoming Her.