Poetry To Me Is Prayer.

All I Am Is The Trick Of Words Writing Themselves.

The Family Story Tells, And It Was Told True, Of My Great-grandfather Who Begat Eight Genius Children And Bought Twelve Almost New Grand Pianos. He Left A Considerable Estate When He Died.

It Was My First Doll That Water Went Into And Water Came Out Of Much Earlier It Was The Diaper I Wore And The Dirt Thereof And My Mother Hating Me For It

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

True. There Is A Beautiful Jesus. He Is Frozen To His Bones Like A Chunk Of Beef. How Desperately He Wanted To Pull His Arms In! How Desperately I Touch His Vertical And Horizontal Axes! But I Can't. Need Is Not Quite Belief.