God Has A Brown Voice, As Soft

Sometimes I Fly Like An Eagle But With The Wings Of A Wren

With This Pen I Take In Hand My Selves And With These Dead Disciples I Will Grapple. Though Rain Curses The Window Let The Poem Be Made.

I Am Teaching... This Year It's Kind Of Like Having A Love Affair With A Rhinoceros.

The Heart, This Child Of Myself That Resides In The Flesh, This Ultimate Signature Of The Me, The Start Of My Blindness And Sleep, Builds A Death Crèche.

Everyone Has Left Me Except My Muse, That Good Nurse. She Stays In My Hand, A Mild White Mouse.