The Fish Are Naked. The Fish Are

Yes I Try To Kill Myself In Small Amounts, An Innocuous Occupation. Actually I'm Hung Up On It.

I Was Only Sitting Here In My White Study With The Awful Black Words Pushing Me Around.

Evil Is Maybe Lying To God. Or Better, Lying To Love.

With This Pen I Take In Hand My Selves And With These Dead Disciples I Will Grapple. Though Rain Curses The Window Let The Poem Be Made.

I Think Of Myself As Writing For One Person, That One Perfect Reader Who Understands And Loves.