The Little Girl Skipped By Under The

I Said, The Poets Are There I Hear Them Singing And Lying Around Their Round Table And Around Me Still.

There Is Rust In My Mouth,the Stain Of An Old Kiss.

Emerald As Heavy As A Golf Course, Ruby As Dark As An Afterbirth, Diamond As White As Sun On The Sea.

Poor Thing. To Die And Never See Brooklyn.

Let There Be A Heaven So That Man May Outlive His Grasses.