My Mouth Blooms Like A Cut.

In A Dream You Are Never Eighty.

Though Rain Curses The Window Let The Poem Be Made.

Craft Is A Trick You Make Up To Let You Write The Poem.

Letters Are False Really - They Are Expressions Of The Way You Wish You Were Instead Of The Way You Are.

There Is No Word For Time. Today We Will Not Think To Number Another Summer Or Watch Its White Bird Into The Ground.