If The Doctors Cure Then The Sun

Well, One Gets Out Of Bed And The Planets Don't Always Hiss Or Muck Up The Day, Each Day.

The Stars Are Pears That No One Can Reach, Even For A Wedding. Perhaps For A Death.

We Do Not Explain My Husband's Insane Abuse And We Do Not Say Why Your Wild-haired Wife Has Fled Or That My Father Opened Like A Walnut And Then Was Dead. Your Palms Fold Over Me Like Knees. Love Is The Only Use.

To Die Whole, Riddled With Nothing But Desire For It, Is Like Breakfast After Love.

O Fallen Angel, The Companion Within Me, Whisper Something Holy Before You Pinch Me Into The Grave.