Sometimes The Soul Takes Pictures Of Things

I Am So Imperfect, Can You Love Me When Really My Soul Is Deformed? Will You Love Me Anyhow?

To Die Whole, Riddled With Nothing But Desire For It, Is Like Breakfast After Love.

Now That I Have Written Many Words, And Let Out So Many Loves, For So Many, And Been Altogether What I Always Was A Woman Of Excess, Of Zeal And Greed, I Find The Effort Useless.

The Boys And Girls Are One Tonight. They Unbutton Blouses. They Unzip Flies. They Take Off Shoes. They Turn Off The Light. The Glimmering Creatures Are Full Of Lies. They Are Eating Each Other. They Are Overfed. At Night, Alone, I Marry The Bed.

One Of My Secret Instructions To Myself As A Poet Is "whatever You Do, Don't Be Boring."