Deep Feeling Doesn't Make For

We Tend To Put Poems Into Factions. And It Restricts Our Reading.

As If Hands Were Enough To Hold An Avalanche Off.

My Thoughts Are Crowded With Death And It Draws So Oddly On The Sexual That I Am Confused To Be Attracted By, In Effect, My Own Annihilation.

I Work Best In Rhyme And Meter. I Was Most Confident Of Myself In That Way.

We Control The Content Of Our Dreams.