Being Sixteen In The Pants I Died

Nature Is Full Of Teeth That Come In One By One, Then Decay, Fall Out.

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

I Try To Take Care And Be Gentle To Them. Words And Eggs Must Be Handled With Care. Once Broken They Are Impossible Things To Repair.

I Am In My Own Mind. I Am Locked In The Wrong House.

I Have A Black Look I Do Not Like. It Is A Mask I Try On. I Migrate Toward It And Its Frog Sits On My Lips And Defecates.