Even Without Wars, Life Is Dangerous.

Talk To Me About Sadness. I Talk About It Too Much In My Own Head But I Never Mind Others Talking About It Either; I Occasionally Feel Like I Tremendously Need Others To Talk About It As Well.

And If I Tried To Give You Something Else, Something Outside Myself, You Would Not Know That The Worst Of Anyone Can Be, Finally, An Accident Of Hope

The Sky Breaks. It Sags And Breathes Upon My Face. In The Presence Of Mine Enemies, Mine Enemies The World Is Full Of Enemies. There Is No Safe Place.

It's A Little Mad, But I Believe I Am Many People. When I Am Writing A Poem, I Feel I Am The Person Who Should Have Written It.

The Soul Was Not Cured, It Was As Full As A Clothes Closet Of Dresses That Did Not Fit.