As A Poet I Would Say Everything

I Had Been Alone More Than I Could Have Been Had I Gone By Myself.

I've Got To Have Something. I Want To Stop It All, The Whole Monumental Grotesque Joke, Before It's Too Late. But Writing Poems And Letters Doesn't Seem To Do Much Good.

We Stayed At Home To Write, To Consolidate Our Outstretched Selves.

The Claw Of The Magnolia, Drunk On Its Own Scents, Asks Nothing Of Life.

…beating Time Along The Edge Of Thought.