The Poet: Would Rather Eat A Heart

And Soon A Branch, Part Of A Hidden Scene,the Leafy Mind, That Long Was Tightly Furled,will Turn Its Private Substance Into Green,and Young Shoots Spread Upon Our Inner World.

Long Live The Weeds That Overwhelm My Narrow Vegetable Realm! The Bitter Rock, The Barren Soil That Force The Son Of Man To Toil; All Things Unholy, Marred By Curse, The Ugly Of The Universe.

I Long For The Imperishable Quiet At The Heart Of Form.

Love Is Not Love Until Love's Vulnerable.

The Indignity Of It!- With Everything Blooming Above Me, Lilies, Pale-pink Cyclamen, Roses, Whole Fields Lovely And Inviolate,- Me Down In The Fetor Of Weeds, Crawling On All Fours, Alive, In A Slippery Grave.