Take Your Foot Out Of The Graveyard,

My Safe, Safe Psychosis Is Broken. It Was Hard. It Was Made Of Stone. It Covered My Face Like A Mask. But It Has Cracked.

I Would Like To Bury All The Hating Eyes Under The Sand Somewhere.

... And My Love Stays Bitterly Glowing, Spasms Of It Will Not Sleep, And I Am Helpless And Thirsty And Need Shade But There Is No One To Cover Me- Not Even God.

Then God Spoke To Me And Said: People Say Only Good Things About Christmas. If They Want To Say Something Bad, They Whisper.

Those Moments Before A Poem Comes, When The Heightened Awareness Comes Over You, And You Realize A Poem Is Buried There Somewhere, You Prepare Yourself. I Run Around, You Know, Kind Of Skipping Around The House, Marvelous Elation. It’s As Though I Could Fly.