God Owns Heaven But He Craves The

Poetry Is My Life, My Postmark, My Hands, My Kitchen, My Face.

All I Am Is The Trick Of Words Writing Themselves.

Yesterday I Did Not Want To Be Borrowed But This Is The Typewriter That Sits Before Me And Love Is Where Yesterday Is At.

Give Me Your Skin As Sheer As A Cobweb, Let Me Open It Up And Listen In And Scoop Out The Dark.

The Trouble With Therapy Is That It Makes Life Go Backwards.