I Don't Want My Daughter To Be

I'll Think About Things For Thirty Or Forty Years Before I'll Write It.

I'll Tell You About It Because I Am Here And You Are Distant.

The Sun Was Like A Huge 50-cent Piece That Someone Had Poured Kerosene On And Then Had Lit With A Match, And Said, "here, Hold This While I Go Get A Newspaper," And Put The Coin In My Hand, But Never Came Back.

A Friend Came Over To The House A Few Days Ago And Read One Of My Poems. He Came Back Today And Asked To Read The Same Poem Over Again. After He Finished Reading It, He Said, It Makes Me Want To Write Poetry.

Hinged To Forgetfulness Like A Door, She Slowly Closed Out Of Sight, And She Was The Woman I Loved, But Too Many Times She Slept Like A Mechanical Deer In My Caresses, And I Ached In The Metal Silence Of Her Dreams.