But When It Came Right Down To

I Am Accused. I Dream Of Massacres. I Am A Garden Of Black And Red Agonies. I Drink Them, Hating Myself, Hating And Fearing. And Now The World Conceives Its End And Runs Toward It, Arms Held Out In Love.

What Is So Real As The Cry Of A Child?

It Was My Last Act Of Love (first Words To Her Mother In The Hospital After Her First Major Suicide Attempt)

I Have A Violence In Me That Is Hot As Death-blood.

Over Coffee And Orange Juice The Embryonic Suicide Brightens Visibly.