I Am In My Own Mind. I

Put Your Mouthful Of Words Away And Come With Me To Watch The Lilies Open In Such A Field, Growing There Like Yachts, Slowly Steering Their Petals Without Nurses Or Clocks.

Death's In The Good-bye.

Jesus Saw The Multitudes Were Hungry And He Said, Oh Lord, Send Down A Short-order Cook.

I Am Tearing The Feathers Out Of The Pillows, Waiting, Waiting For Daddy To Come Home And Stuff Me So Full Of Our Infected Child That I Turn Invisible, But Married, At Last.

Psychiatry Is A Dirty Mirror.