Despite My Asbestos Gloves, The Cough Is

It Is A Dead Heart. It Is Inside Of Me. It Is A Stranger Yet Once It Was Agreeable, Opening And Closing Like A Clam.

My Death From The Wrists, Two Name Tags, Blood Worn Like A Corsage To Bloom One On The Left And One On The Right.

And We Are Magic Talking To Itself, Noisy And Alone. I Am Queen Of All My Sins Forgotten. Am I Still Lost? Once I Was Beautiful. Now I Am Myself

It Is In The Small Things We See It. The Child's First Step, As Awesome As An Earthquake. The First Time You Rode A Bike, Wallowing Up The Sidewalk.

I Was The Girl Of The Chain Letter, The Girl Full Of Talk Of Coffins And Keyholes, The One Of The Telephone Bills, The Wrinkled Photo And The Lost Connections.