I Was Only Sitting Here In My

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

I Think Of Myself As Writing For One Person, That One Perfect Reader Who Understands And Loves.

I Love The Word Warm. It Is Almost Unbearable-- So Moist And Breathlike.

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

My Objects Dream And Wear New Costumes, Compelled To, It Seems, By All The Words In My Hands And The Sea That Bangs In My Throat.