Life Is A Trick, Life Is A

Do You Like Me?” No Answer. Silence Bounced, Fell Off His Tongue And Sat Between Us And Clogged My Throat. It Slaughtered My Trust. It Tore Cigarettes Out Of My Mouth. We Exchanged Blind Words, And I Did Not Cry, I Did Not Beg, But Blackness Filled My Ears, Blackness Lunged In My Heart, And Something That Had Been Good, A Sort Of Kindly Oxygen, Turned Into A Gas Oven.

Everyone Has Left Me Except My Muse, That Good Nurse. She Stays In My Hand, A Mild White Mouse.

Poetry Is My Life, My Postmark, My Hands, My Kitchen, My Face.

But Even In A Telephone Booth Evil Can Seep Out Of The Receiver And We Must Cover It With A Mattress, And Then Tear It From Its Roots And Bury It, Bury It.

Emerald As Heavy As A Golf Course, Ruby As Dark As An Afterbirth, Diamond As White As Sun On The Sea.