Love Your Self's Self Where It Lives.

The Ground Has On Its Clothes. The Trees Poke Out Of Sheets And Each Branch Wears The Sock Of God.

My Business Is Words. Words Are Like Labels, Or Coins, Or Better, Like Swarming Bees.

Take Your Foot Out Of The Graveyard, They Are Busy Being Dead.

Please God, We're All Right Here. Please Leave Us Alone. Don't Send Death In His Fat Red Suit And His Ho-ho Baritone.

Poetry To Me Is Prayer.