Death's In The Good-bye.

I Tied Down Time With A Rope But It Came Back. Then I Put My Head In A Death Bowl And My Eyes Shut Up Like Clams. They Didn't Come Back.

But Even In A Telephone Booth Evil Can Seep Out Of The Receiver And We Must Cover It With A Mattress, And Then Tear It From Its Roots And Bury It, Bury It.

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

Then All This Became History. Your Hand Found Mine. Life Rushed To My Fingers Like A Blood Clot. Oh, My Carpenter, The Fingers Are Rebuilt. They Dance With Yours.

I Think I've Been Writing Black Poems All Along, Wearing My White Mask. I'm Always The Victim ... But No Longer!