God Is Only Mocked By Believers.

Maybe I Am Becoming A Hermit, Opening The Door For Only A Few Special Animals? Maybe My Skull Is Too Crowded And It Has No Opening Through Which To Feed It Soup?

This Is What Poems Are: With Mercy For The Greedy, They Are The Tongue's Wrangle, The World's Pottage, The Rat's Star.

Sorrow Is Easier Than Guilt.

Suddenly I'm Not Half The Girl I Used To Be. There's A Shadow Hanging Over Me . . . From Me To You Out Of My Electric Devil.

Thief!- How Did You Crawl Into, Crawl Down Alone Into The Death I Wanted So Badly And For So Long.