You Must Reach Inside Yourselves Where I

Pain Can Give You Sight Or Make You Blind.

I Love Sylvia Plath And Anne Sexton. I Also Love More Cerebral Poets Like H.d. And Emily Dickinson. My Parents Subscribed To A Monthly Poetry Periodical, And As A Teenager I Was Introduced To Denise Levertov, Who Was An Influence.

The Rain Is Coming. Little Sister, The Night Broke. The Thunder Cracked My Brain Finally. The Rain Is Coming, I Promise You. I Didn’t Mean To But Your Tears Will Bring Life Back. Purple Flowers Grow, The Colour Blood Looks In The Veins. They’ll Sprout Out Of My Chest. I Promise You They’ll Crack The Ground, Grow Over The Freeways, Down The Slopes To The Sea. I’ll Be In Their Faces. I’ll Be In The Waves, Coming Down From The Sky. I’ll Be Inside The One Who Holds You. And Then I Won’t Be.

Any Love That Is Love Is Right.

Under The Ground Seep The Toxins Of The Population That Lives Above. If You Have To, You Will Eat Roots And Earthworms. It Is Always Night. Candles Burn In Lanterns Made From Tin Cans. When It Is Nighttime Up Above, You Can Crawl Out, But Only For A Little While. You Feel Ashamed Of Your Matted Hair, Your Torn Clothes, The Dirt On Your Face. Who Would Want To Speak To You? They Are All Shiny And Pretty. They Have Parents And House With Gardens. What Do You Have? The Earth. Whole Handfuls Of It. The Lizard People With Their Slit Eyes And Scaly Skin. Your Loneliness. Your Longing.