Goodbye, You Who Are, For Me, The

Kiss The Mouth Which Tells You, Here, Here Is The World. This Mouth. This Laughter. These Temple Bones.

The Rest Of My Days I Spend Wandering: Wondering What, Anyway, Was That Sticky Infusion, That Rank Flavor Of Blood, That Poetry, By Which I Lived?

Second-hand Gloves Will Become Lovely Again, Their Memories Are What Give Them The Need For Other Hands. And The Desolation Of Lovers Is The Same: That Enormous Emptiness Carved Out Of Such Tiny Beings As We Are Asks To Be Filled; The Need For The New Love Is Faithfulness To The Old.

Little Sleep's-head Sprouting Hair In The Moonlight, When I Come Back We Will Go Out Together, We Will Walk Out Together Among, The Ten Thousand Things, Each Scratched Too Late With Such Knowledge, The Wages Of Dying Is Love.

I Will Find That Special Person Who Is Wrong For Me In Just The Right Way.