O Yellow Eye, Let Me Be Sick

True. There Is A Beautiful Jesus. He Is Frozen To His Bones Like A Chunk Of Beef. How Desperately He Wanted To Pull His Arms In! How Desperately I Touch His Vertical And Horizontal Axes! But I Can't. Need Is Not Quite Belief.

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

Somebody Who Should Have Been Born Is Gone.

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

There Is No Word For Time. Today We Will Not Think To Number Another Summer Or Watch Its White Bird Into The Ground.