Poets Are Sitting In My

The Fish Are Naked. The Fish Are Always Awake. They Are The Color Of Old Spoons And Caramels.

And We Are Magic Talking To Itself, Noisy And Alone. I Am Queen Of All My Sins Forgotten. Am I Still Lost? Once I Was Beautiful. Now I Am Myself

I Think It Will Be A Miracle If I Don't Someday End Up Killing Myself.

All In All, I'd Say, The World Is Strangling.

Evil Is Maybe Lying To God. Or Better, Lying To Love.