O Starry Night, This Is How I

Sometimes The Soul Takes Pictures Of Things It Has Wished For, But Never Seen.

There Is Joy In All: In The Hair I Brush Each Morning, In The Cannon Towel, Newly Washed, That I Rub My Body With Each Morning.

Death's In The Good-bye.

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

You Cutting The Lawn, Fixing The Machines, All This Leprous Day And Then More Vodka, More Soda And The Pond Forgiving Our Bodies, The Pond Sucking Out The Throb.