Our Eyes Are Full Of Terrible Confessions.

I've Grown Tired Of Love You Are The Trouble With Me I Watch You Walk Right By

Big Heart, Wide As A Watermelon, But Wise As Birth, There Is So Much Abundance In The People I Have.

Think Of Innocent Icarus Who Is Doing Quite Well: Larger Than A Sail, Over The Fog And The Blast Of The Plushy Ocean, He Goes. Admire His Wings!

I Sit At My Desk Each Night With No Place To Go, Opening The Wrinkled Maps Of Milwaukee And Buffalo, The Whole U.s., Its Cemeteries, Its Arbitrary Time Zones, Through Routes Like Small Veins, Capitals Like Small Stones.

The Man Inside Of Woman Ties A Knot So That They Will Never Again Be Separate.