Sorrow Is Easier Than Guilt.

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.

Meanwhile In My Head, I’m Undergoing Open-heart Surgery.

Blue Eyes Wash Off Sometimes.

With This Pen I Take In Hand My Selves And With These Dead Disciples I Will Grapple. Though Rain Curses The Window Let The Poem Be Made.

The Little Girl Skipped By Under The Wrinkled Oak Leaves And Held Fast To A Replica Of Herself.