I Dressed And Went For

Writers Will Be Judged By What They Write.

I’d Like To Go Out In The Front Yard And Shout Something. “none Of This Is Worth It!” That’s What I’d Like People To Hear.

And What Did You Want? To Call Myself Beloved, To Feel Myself Beloved On The Earth.

That's All We Have, Finally, The Words, And They Had Better Be The Right Ones.

A Man Without Hands Came To The Door To Sell Me A Photograph Of My House. Except For The Chrome Hooks, He Was An Ordinary-looking Man Of Fifty Or So.