I Rot On The Wall, My Own

I Want To Kiss God On His Nose And Watch Him Sneeze And So Do You. Not Out Of Disrespect. Out Of Pique. Out Of A Man-to-man Thing.

Our Children Tremble In Their Teen-age Cribs, Whirling Off On A Thumb Or A Motorcycle.

...became A Woman Who Learned Her Own Skin And Dug Into Her Soul And Found It Full.

No One To Hate Except The Slim Fish Of Memory That Slides In And Out Of My Brain.

I Who Was A House Full Of Bowel Movement, I Who Was A Defaced Altar, I Who Wanted To Crawl Toward God Could Not Move Nor Eat Bread.