I Would Like To Bury All The

The Marriage Twists, Holds Firm, A Sailor's Knot.

This Is What Poems Are: With Mercy For The Greedy, They Are The Tongue's Wrangle, The World's Pottage, The Rat's Star.

Craft Is A Trick You Make Up To Let You Write The Poem.

I Am Stuffing Your Mouth With Your Promises And Watching You Vomit Them Out Upon My Face.

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.