Let God Be Some Tribal Female Who

My Life Has Appeared Unclothed In Court, Detail By Detail, Death-bone Witness By Death-bone Witness, And I Was Shamed At The Verdict.

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.

I've Grown Tired Of Love You Are The Trouble With Me I Watch You Walk Right By

Thumbs Grow Into My Throat. I Wear Slaps Like A Spot Of Rouge.

We Are All Writing God's Poem.