There Is Rust In My Mouth,the Stain

I Keep Feeling That There Isn't One Poem Being Written By Any One Of Us - Or A Book Or Anything Like That. The Whole Life Of Us Writers, The Whole Product I Guess I Mean, Is The One Long Poem - A Community Effort If You Will. It's All The Same Poem. It Doesn't Belong To Any One Writer - It's God's Poem Perhaps. Or God's People's Poem.

God Went Out Of Me As If The Sea Dried Up Like Sandpaper, As If The Sun Became A Latrine.

I Am Stuffing Your Mouth With Your Promises And Watching You Vomit Them Out Upon My Face.

Pulling Off The Fat Diamond Engagement Ring, Pulling Off The Elopement Wedding Ring, And Holding Them, Clicking Them In Thumb And Forefinger, The Indent Of Twenty-five Years, Like A Tiny Rip Leaving Its Mark.

Everyone In Me Is A Bird I Am Beating All My Wings