I Think Of Myself As Writing For

Despite My Asbestos Gloves, The Cough Is Filling Me With Black, And A Red Powder Seeps Through My Veins.

Death's In The Good-bye.

I Try To Take Care And Be Gentle To Them. Words And Eggs Must Be Handled With Care. Once Broken They Are Impossible Things To Repair.

I Am Out Of Practice At Living. You Are As Brave As A Motorcycle.

Everyone In Me Is A Bird I Am Beating All My Wings