A Woman Who Writes Feels Too Much.

To Tell The Truth Days Are All The Same Size And Words Aren't Much Company.

I Want To Kiss God On His Nose And Watch Him Sneeze And So Do You. Not Out Of Disrespect. Out Of Pique. Out Of A Man-to-man Thing.

I Tied Down Time With A Rope But It Came Back. Then I Put My Head In A Death Bowl And My Eyes Shut Up Like Clams. They Didn't Come Back.

Stop The Darkness And Its Amputations And Find The Real Mccoy In The Private Holiness Of My Hands.

I'll Vacuum Up My Stale Hair, I'll Pay All My Neighbors' Bad Debts, I'll Write A Poem Called Yellow And Put My Lips Down To Drink It Up.