Now, In My Middle Age, About Nineteen

The Man Inside Of Woman Ties A Knot So That They Will Never Again Be Separate.

All I Wanted Was A Little Piece Of Life, To Be Married, To Have Children.... I Was Trying My Damnedest To Lead A Conventional Life, For That Was How I Was Brought Up, And It Was What My Husband Wanted Of Me. But One Can't Build Little White Picket Fences To Keep The Nightmares Out.

Meanwhile In My Head, I’m Undergoing Open-heart Surgery.

Yet Love Enters My Blood Like An I.v., Dripping In Its Little White Moments.

Poetry Is My Life, My Postmark, My Hands, My Kitchen, My Face.