The Trouble With Therapy Is That It

But Even In A Telephone Booth Evil Can Seep Out Of The Receiver And We Must Cover It With A Mattress, And Then Tear It From Its Roots And Bury It, Bury It.

My Husband Sings Baa Baa Black Sheep And We Pretend That All's Certain And Good, That The Marriage Won't End.

Someone Is Dead. Even The Trees Know It, Those Poor Old Dancers Who Come On Lewdly, All Pea-green Scarfs And Spine Pole.

This Is What Poems Are: With Mercy For The Greedy, They Are The Tongue's Wrangle, The World's Pottage, The Rat's Star.

Look To Your Heart That Flutters In And Out Like A Moth. God Is Not Indifferent To Your Need. You Have A Thousand Prayers But God Has One.