Have I Had Two Roads, I Would

I Don't Decide To Represent Anything Except Myself. But That Self Is Full Of Collective Memory.

And What I Don't Understand I Grasp It Only When It's Too Late.

And You Became Like Coffee, In The Deliciousness, And The Bitterness, And The Addiction.

My Love, I Fear The Silence Of Your Hands.

I See Poetry As Spiritual Medicine.