Home Is My Bethlehem, My Succoring Shelter,

It Doesn't Matter Who My Father Was; It Matters Who I Remember He Was.

I Would Like A Simple Life / Yet All Night I Am Laying / Poems Away In A Long Box.

Oh Sharp Diamond, My Mother! I Could Not Count The Cost Of All Your Faces, Your Moods That Present That I Lost. Sweet Girl, My Deathbed, My Jewel-fingered Lady...

Suicides Have A Special Language. Like Carpenters They Want To Know Which Tools. They Never Ask Why Build.

My Safe, Safe Psychosis Is Broken. It Was Hard. It Was Made Of Stone. It Covered My Face Like A Mask. But It Has Cracked.