The Body Is A Damn Hard Thing

I Am Out Of Practice At Living. You Are As Brave As A Motorcycle.

The Future Is A Fog That Is Still Hanging Out Over The Sea, A Boat That Floats Home Or Does Not.

Being Kissed On The Back Of The Knee Is A Moth At The Windowscreen.

Do You Like Me?” No Answer. Silence Bounced, Fell Off His Tongue And Sat Between Us And Clogged My Throat. It Slaughtered My Trust. It Tore Cigarettes Out Of My Mouth. We Exchanged Blind Words, And I Did Not Cry, I Did Not Beg, But Blackness Filled My Ears, Blackness Lunged In My Heart, And Something That Had Been Good, A Sort Of Kindly Oxygen, Turned Into A Gas Oven.

One Of My Secret Instructions To Myself As A Poet Is "whatever You Do, Don't Be Boring."