I Grow Old On My Bitterness.

I Cannot Walk An Inch / Without Trying To Walk To God.

My Life Has Appeared Unclothed In Court, Detail By Detail, Death-bone Witness By Death-bone Witness, And I Was Shamed At The Verdict.

My Faith Is A Great Weight Hung On A Small Wire, As Doth The Spider Hang Her Baby On A Thin Web.

Suicides Have A Special Language. Like Carpenters They Want To Know Which Tools. They Never Ask Why Build.

No One To Hate Except The Slim Fish Of Memory That Slides In And Out Of My Brain.