The beautiful feeling after writing a poem is on the whole better even than after sex, and that's saying a lot.

It is June. I am tired of being brave.

I burn the way money burns.

Fear / a motor, / pumps me around and around / until I fade slowly.

All day I've built a lifetime and now the sun sinks to undo it.

Even so, I must admire your skill. You are so gracefully insane.

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