I Am In My Own Mind. I

God Went Out Of Me As If The Sea Dried Up Like Sandpaper, As If The Sun Became A Latrine.

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

I Am Alone Here In My Own Mind. There Is No Map And There Is No Road. It Is One Of A Kind Just As Yours Is.

And Within The House Ashes Are Being Stuffed Into My Marriage, Fury Is Lapping The Walls, Dishes Crack On The Shelves, A Strangler Needs My Throat, The Daughter Has Ceased To Eat Anything.

I Have Forgiven All The Old Actors For Dying. A New One Comes On With The Same Lines, Like Large White Growths, In His Mouth. The Dancers Come On From The Wings, Perfectly Mated.