I Am Out Of Practice At Living.

The Joy That Isn't Shared Dies Young.

You Who Have Inhabited Me In The Deepest And Most Broken Place, Are Going, Going

The Tongue, The Chinese Say, Is Like A Sharp Knife: It Kills Without Drawing Blood.

Take A Woman Talking, Purging Herself With Rhymes, Drumming Words Out Like A Typewriter, Planting Words In You Like Grass Seed. You'll Move Off.

And We Are Magic Talking To Itself, Noisy And Alone. I Am Queen Of All My Sins Forgotten. Am I Still Lost? Once I Was Beautiful. Now I Am Myself