Despite My Asbestos Gloves, The Cough Is

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

Meanwhile In My Head, I’m Undergoing Open-heart Surgery.

To Tell The Truth Days Are All The Same Size And Words Aren't Much Company.

My Ideas Are A Curse. They Spring From A Radical Discontent With The Awful Order Of Things. I Play Clown. I Play Carpenter. I Play Nurse. I Play Witch.

My Eyes, Those Sluts, Those Whores, Would Play No More.