Yesterday I Did Not Want To Be

Let God Be Some Tribal Female Who Is Known But Forbidden.

A Woman Who Writes Feels Too Much.

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

To Be Without God Is To Be A Snake / Who Wants To Swallow An Elephant.

Maybe I Am Becoming A Hermit, Opening The Door For Only A Few Special Animals? Maybe My Skull Is Too Crowded And It Has No Opening Through Which To Feed It Soup?