If Neurotic Is Wanting Two Mutually Exclusive

Love Set You Going Like A Fat Gold Watch. The Midwife Slapped Your Footsoles, And Your Bald Cry Took Its Place Among The Elements.

I Think The Coming Of Spring, The Stars Overhead, The First Snowfall And So On Are Gifts For A Child, A Young Poet.

No Day Is Safe From News Of You.

Mother Of Otherness, Eat Me.

And I Identify Too Closely With My Reading, With My Writing.