I Believe Poetry Has Very Little To

What You Fear Your Whole Life Comes To Pass. You End Up Living Toward It, You Spend Your Life Running From It But Your Foot Is Nailed To The Sidewalk. You Circle Around It Until You Wear Yourself Own.

Perhaps It Is Our Fear, That In The Silence Between Stories, In The Moment Of Falling, The Fear That We Will Never Find The One Story Which Will Save Us, And So We Lunge For Another, And We Feel Safe Again, If Only For As Long As We Are Telling It.

Inside Us, A Flower Taken Whole, A Field Built Inside.

I Became An Electrician After High School. But I Always Had This Thing In Me To Write. But It Was Always A Little Shameful. To Say You Were A Poet Was Saying You Were Kind Of Crazy, And I Carried That Around For A Long Time. I Still Kind Of Carry That. And I Think It Might Be True, Actually.

I Offer Emily Half Of My Hit Of Acid- Love Saves The Day. It's My Second Or Third Time Tripping, Emily's First, And She's Understandably Trepid. Awake All Night, At One Point I Find Her Touching Her Reflection In A Cruelly Lit Dorm Bathroom, Asking If She'll Ever Be The Same. I Kiss Her Then For The First Time And Whisper, No.