Bike Downtown, Stick Out Tongues At The

The Marriage Twists, Holds Firm, A Sailor's Knot.

You Must Be A Poet, A Lady Of Evil Luck Desiring To Be What You Are Not, Longing To Be What You Can Only Visit.

Pulling Off The Fat Diamond Engagement Ring, Pulling Off The Elopement Wedding Ring, And Holding Them, Clicking Them In Thumb And Forefinger, The Indent Of Twenty-five Years, Like A Tiny Rip Leaving Its Mark.

As A Writer One Has To Take The Chance On Being A Fool.

Being Sixteen In The Pants I Died Full Of Questions