Poetry To Me Is Prayer.

The Marriage Twists, Holds Firm, A Sailor's Knot.

When The Cow Gives Blood And The Christ Is Born We Must All Eat Sacrifices. We Must All Eat Beautiful Women.

Need Is Not Quite Belief.

I Find Now, Swallowing One Teaspoon Of Pain, That It Drops Downward To The Past Where It Mixes With Last Year’s Cupful And Downward Into A Decade’s Quart And Downward Into A Lifetime’s Ocean. I Alternate Treading Water And Deadman’s Float.

Not That It Was Beautiful, But That I Found Some Order There.