Why Are All These Dolls Falling Out

If You Meet A Cross-eyed Person You Must Plunge Into The Grass, Alongside The Chilly Ants, Fish Through The Green Fingernails And Come Up With The Four-leaf Clover.

I Have Been Cut In Two.

Craft Is A Trick You Make Up To Let You Write The Poem.

I Find Now, Swallowing One Teaspoon Of Pain, That It Drops Downward To The Past Where It Mixes With Last Year’s Cupful And Downward Into A Decade’s Quart And Downward Into A Lifetime’s Ocean. I Alternate Treading Water And Deadman’s Float.

I Said, The Poets Are There I Hear Them Singing And Lying Around Their Round Table And Around Me Still.