With My Poems, I Finally Won Even

It Is Not Sex That Gives The Pleasure, But The Lover.

Pain Is A Forcing Sieve That Turns Me To Gruel.

I Don't Even Remember What Mother And I Quarreled About: It Is A Continual Quarrel That Began When I Reached Puberty.

In Her Bottled Up Is A Woman Peppery As Curry, A Yam Of A Woman Of Butter And Brass.

We Live In A Media Soup And Are Constantly Being Programmed Or Are Fighting That Programming. Thus Any Truthful Account Of A Life, Every Part Of A Life, Is About Society As Well As An Individual.