I Think I've Been Writing Black Poems

Don't Bite Till You Know If It's Bread Or Stone.

Our Checks Are Pale. Our Wallets Are Invalids. Past Due, Past Due, Is What Our Bills Are Saying And Yet We Kiss In Every Corner, Scuffing The Dust And The Cat. Love Rises Like Bread As We Go Bust.

All In All, I'd Say, The World Is Strangling.

God Has A Brown Voice, As Soft And Full As Beer.

Jewels! Today Each Twig Is Important, Each Ring, Each Infection, Each Form Is All That The Gods Must Have Meant.