Poor Thing. To Die And

You Must Be A Poet, A Lady Of Evil Luck Desiring To Be What You Are Not, Longing To Be What You Can Only Visit.

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

This Is What Poems Are: With Mercy For The Greedy, They Are The Tongue's Wrangle, The World's Pottage, The Rat's Star.

Life Is A Trick, Life Is A Kitten In A Sack.

The Windows, The Starving Windows That Drive The Trees Like Nails Into My Heart.