No One To Hate Except

Poetry Is My Life, My Postmark, My Hands, My Kitchen, My Face.

There Is Hope. There Is Hope Everywhere. Today God Give Milk And I Have The Pail.

I Burn The Way Money Burns.

We Are America. We Are The Coffin Fillers. We Are The Grocers Of Death. We Pack Them In Crates Like Cauliflowers.

It's A Little Mad, But I Believe I Am Many People. When I Am Writing A Poem, I Feel I Am The Person Who Should Have Written It.