Once One Has Seen God, What Is

What I Didn't Say Was That Each Time I Picked Up A German Dictionary Or A German Book, The Very Sight Of Those Dense, Black, Barbed-wire Letters Made My Mind Shut Like A Clam.

Talking About My Fears To Others Feeds It.

I Would Say Everything Should Be Able To Come Into A Poem, But I Can't Put Toothbrushes Into A Poem, I Really Can't!

And I Sit Here Without Identity: Faceless. My Head Aches.

Perfection Is Terrible, It Cannot Have Children.