O Starry Night, This Is How I

There Is Rust In My Mouth,the Stain Of An Old Kiss.

It Doesn't Matter Who My Father Was; It Matters Who I Remember He Was.

Bless All Useful Objects, The Spoons Made Of Bone, The Mattress I Cook My Dreams Upon, The Typewriter That Is My Church With An Altar Of Keys Always Waiting.

I Was The Girl Of The Chain Letter, The Girl Full Of Talk Of Coffins And Keyholes, The One Of The Telephone Bills, The Wrinkled Photo And The Lost Connections.

Abundance Is Scooped From Abundance Yet Abundance Remains.