God Has A Brown Voice, As Soft

You Cutting The Lawn, Fixing The Machines, All This Leprous Day And Then More Vodka, More Soda And The Pond Forgiving Our Bodies, The Pond Sucking Out The Throb.

Let There Be Seasons So That Our Tongues Will Be Rich In Asparagus And Limes.

Blind With Love, My Daughter Has Cried Nightly For Horses, Those Long-necked Marchers And Churners That She Has Mastered, Any And All, Reigning Them In Like A Circus Hand.

God Owns Heaven But He Craves The Earth.

In A Dream You Are Never Eighty.