For Now, Poetry Has The Capacity -

I Am The Androgyne, I Am The Living Mind You Fail To Describe In Your Dead Language The Lost Noun, The Verb Surviving Only In The Infinitive The Letters Of My Name Are Written Under The Lids Of The Newborn Child

I Came To Explore The Wreck.

I'd Call It Love If Love Didn't Take So Many Years But Lust Too Is A Jewel.

I Am An Instrument In The Shape/ Of A Woman Trying To Translate Pulsations/ Into Images For The Relief Of The Body/ And The Reconstruction Of The Mind.

Lying Is Done With Words And Also With Silence.