There Is Hope. There Is Hope Everywhere.

I Would Like A Simple Life / Yet All Night I Am Laying / Poems Away In A Long Box.

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.

I Burn The Way Money Burns.

The Saints Come, As Human As A Mouth, With A Bag Of God In Their Backs, Like A Hunchback, They Come, They Come Marching In.

[i] Have Fantasies Of Killing Myself And Thus Being The Powerful One Not The Powerless One.