Big Heart, Wide As A Watermelon, But

There Is Joy In All: In The Hair I Brush Each Morning, In The Cannon Towel, Newly Washed, That I Rub My Body With Each Morning.

Images Are The Heart Of Poetry ... You're Not A Poet Without Imagery.

What A Lay Me Down This Is With Two Pink, Two Orange, Two Green, Two White Goodnights.

I Am A Collection Of Dismantled Almosts.

And Tonight Our Skin, Our Bones, That Have Survived Our Fathers, Will Meet, Delicate In The Hold, Fastened Together In An Intricate Lock. Then One Of Us Will Shout, "my Need Is More Desperate!" And I Will Eat You Slowly With Kisses Even Though The Killer In You Has Gotten Out.