Purification In Fire. Public Cremation

She Wanted To Wake Up Like Dorothy And See Michael's Face Peering Over The Side Of The Bed, Laughing. Why, You Just Hit Your Head. But It Was Not A Dream And There Was No Kansas And He Was Never Coming Back.

Just Because A Poet Said Something Didn’t Mean It Was True, Only That It Sounded Good.

I'm Incredibly Restless. I Read A Lot Of Poetry. I Also Find Myself Reading The First 20 Pages Of Everything, Looking For Something. And You Know What? I'm Usually Looking For The Book I'm Writing. And It's Not Out There!

My Loneliness Tasted Like Pennies.

How Can I Shed Tears For A Man I Should Never Have Allowed To Touch Me In Any Way?