Why Are All These Dolls Falling Out

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.

Yet Love Enters My Blood Like An I.v., Dripping In Its Little White Moments.

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

And If I Tried To Give You Something Else, Something Outside Myself, You Would Not Know That The Worst Of Anyone Can Be, Finally, An Accident Of Hope

It Is A Dead Heart. It Is Inside Of Me. It Is A Stranger Yet Once It Was Agreeable, Opening And Closing Like A Clam.