My Heart Is On A Budget. It

I Have Forgiven All The Old Actors For Dying. A New One Comes On With The Same Lines, Like Large White Growths, In His Mouth. The Dancers Come On From The Wings, Perfectly Mated.

The Saints Come, As Human As A Mouth, With A Bag Of God In Their Backs, Like A Hunchback, They Come, They Come Marching In.

Saints Have No Moderation, Nor Do Poets, Just Exuberance.

Even Without Wars, Life Is Dangerous.

I Have Been Cut In Two.