I Am Solitary As Grass.

I Have A Violence In Me That Is Hot As Death-blood.

I Have Let Things Slip, A Thirty-year~old Cargo Boat Stubbornly Hanging On To My Name And Address.

I Felt The First Man I Slept With Must Be Intelligent, So I Could Respect Him.

The Claw Of The Magnolia, Drunk On Its Own Scents, Asks Nothing Of Life.

Let Me Sit In A Flowerpot, The Spiders Won't Notice. My Heart Is A Stopped Geranium.