In Our Rags Of Light, All Dressed

He Hated The Men Floating In Sleep In The Big Stone Houses. Because Their Lives Were Ordered And Their Rooms Tidy. Because They Got Up Every Morning And Did Their Public Work. Because They Weren't Going To Dynamite Their Factories And Have Naked Parties In The Fire.

You Have To Keep Cracking Yourself Open Or You Become A Parody Of Yourself.

Your Hair Upon The Pillow Like A Sleepy Golden Storm

How Bitter Were The Prozac Pills Of The Last Few Hundred Mornings

A Scar Is What Happens When The Word Is Made Flesh.