I Rot On The Wall, My Own

The Joy That Isn't Shared Dies Young.

I Love The Word Warm. It Is Almost Unbearable-- So Moist And Breathlike.

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.

Even So, I Must Admire Your Skill. You Are So Gracefully Insane.

And What Of The Dead? They Lie Without Shoes In The Stone Boats. They Are More Like Stone Than The Sea Would Be If It Stopped. They Refuse To Be Blessed, Throat, Eye And Knucklebone.