Oh, Darling, Let Your Body In, Let

Suicides Have A Special Language. Like Carpenters They Want To Know Which Tools. They Never Ask Why Build.

Depression Is Boring, I Think And I Would Do Better To Make Some Soup And Light Up The Cave.

God Has A Brown Voice, As Soft And Full As Beer.

The Beautiful Feeling After Writing A Poem Is On The Whole Better Even Than After Sex, And That's Saying A Lot.

Yet Love Enters My Blood Like An I.v., Dripping In Its Little White Moments.