To Love Another Is Somethinglike

I Have Forgiven All The Old Actors For Dying. A New One Comes On With The Same Lines, Like Large White Growths, In His Mouth. The Dancers Come On From The Wings, Perfectly Mated.

Nature Is Full Of Teeth That Come In One By One, Then Decay, Fall Out.

Poor Thing. To Die And Never See Brooklyn.

The Saints Come, As Human As A Mouth, With A Bag Of God In Their Backs, Like A Hunchback, They Come, They Come Marching In.

Love Your Self's Self Where It Lives.