My Love's Manners In Bed

For Love - I Would Split Open Your Head And Put A Candle In Behind The Eyes.

The Awful Thing, As A Kid Reading, Was That You Came To The End Of The Story, And That Was It. I Mean, It Would Be Heartbreaking That There Was No More Of It.

I Know This Body Is Impatient. I Know I Constitute Only A Meager Voice And Mind. Yet I Loved, I Love. I Want No Sentimentality. I Want No More Than Home.

Hopefully, I Write What I Don't Know.

Still, No One Finally Knows What A Poet Is Supposed Either To Be Or To Do. Especially In This Country, One Takes On The Job—because All That One Does In America Is Considered A "job"—with No Clear Sense As To What Is Required Or Where One Will Ultimately Be Led. In That Respect, It Is As Particular An Instance Of A "calling" As One Might Point To. For Years I've Kept In Mind, "many Are Called But Few Are Chosen." Even So "called," There Were No Assurances That One Would Be Answered.