There Is A Good Look

I Did Not Know The Woman I Would Be Nor That Blood Would Bloom In Me Each Month Like An Exotic Flower, Nor That Children, Two Monuments, Would Break From Between My Legs.

Bless All Useful Objects, The Spoons Made Of Bone, The Mattress I Cook My Dreams Upon, The Typewriter That Is My Church With An Altar Of Keys Always Waiting.

Our Children Tremble In Their Teen-age Cribs, Whirling Off On A Thumb Or A Motorcycle.

Being Sixteen In The Pants I Died Full Of Questions

O Starry Night, This Is How I Want To Die