There Is Joy In All: In The

Take A Woman Talking, Purging Herself With Rhymes, Drumming Words Out Like A Typewriter, Planting Words In You Like Grass Seed. You'll Move Off.

Rats Live On No Evil Star

And Tonight Our Skin, Our Bones, That Have Survived Our Fathers, Will Meet, Delicate In The Hold, Fastened Together In An Intricate Lock. Then One Of Us Will Shout, "my Need Is More Desperate!" And I Will Eat You Slowly With Kisses Even Though The Killer In You Has Gotten Out.

I Said, The Poets Are There I Hear Them Singing And Lying Around Their Round Table And Around Me Still.

When I'm Writing, I Know I'm Doing The Thing I Was Born To Do.