... man is eating the earth up like a candy bar.

Craft is a trick you make up to let you write the poem.

I'm the crazy one who thinks that words reach people.

As it has been said: Love and a cough cannot be concealed. Even a small cough. Even a small love.

Women tell time by the body. They are like clocks. They are always fastened to the earth, listening for its small animal noises.

And what of the dead? They lie without shoes in the stone boats. They are more like stone than the sea would be if it stopped. They refuse to be blessed, throat, eye and knucklebone.

I rot on the wall, my own Dorian Gray.