If Sex Is A War, I Am

If Sex Is A War, I Am A Conscientious Objector: I Will Not Play.

The Mind Wraps Itself Around A Poem. It Is Almost Sensual, Particularly If You Work On A Computer. You Can Turn The Poem Round And About And Upside Down, Dancing With It A Kind Of Bolero Of Two Snakes Twisting And Coiling, Until The Poem Has Found Its Right And Proper Shape.

I Mourn In Grey, Grey As The Sleeted Wind The Bled Shades Of Twilight, Gunmetal, Battleships, Industrial Paint.

The Pitcher Cries For Water To Carry And A Person For Work That Is Real.

The Sense Of Being Jewish Never Left Me, But When My Grandmother Died, I Rebelled Against Judaism As I Knew It Then, Which Was Orthodox. I Saw The Rituals, A Lot Of Them, As Very Male, For A Long Time.