We Talked Death With Burned-up Intensity, Both

It Is A Dead Heart. It Is Inside Of Me. It Is A Stranger Yet Once It Was Agreeable, Opening And Closing Like A Clam.

Not That It Was Beautiful, But That I Found Some Order There.

I Would Like A Simple Life / Yet All Night I Am Laying / Poems Away In A Long Box.

I Raise My Pelvis To God So That It May Know The Truth Of How Flowers Smash Through The Long Winter.

Put Your Mouthful Of Words Away And Come With Me To Watch The Lilies Open In Such A Field, Growing There Like Yachts, Slowly Steering Their Petals Without Nurses Or Clocks.