I Was Spread Out Dailyand Examined For

It Was My First Doll That Water Went Into And Water Came Out Of Much Earlier It Was The Diaper I Wore And The Dirt Thereof And My Mother Hating Me For It

One Can't Build Little White Picket Fences To Keep Nightmares Out.

Someone Is Dead. Even The Trees Know It, Those Poor Old Dancers Who Come On Lewdly, All Pea-green Scarfs And Spine Pole.

I See Myself As One Would See Another. I Have Been Cut In Two.

No One To Hate Except The Slim Fish Of Memory That Slides In And Out Of My Brain.