Today God Gives Milk / And I

Thumbs Grow Into My Throat. I Wear Slaps Like A Spot Of Rouge.

One Of My Secret Instructions To Myself As A Poet Is "whatever You Do, Don't Be Boring."

The Tongue, The Chinese Say, Is Like A Sharp Knife: It Kills Without Drawing Blood.

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

I Have A Black Look I Do Not Like. It Is A Mask I Try On. I Migrate Toward It And Its Frog Sits On My Lips And Defecates.