Now I am going back And I have ripped my hand From your hand as I said I would And I have made it this far.
When I'm writing, I know I'm doing the thing I was born to do.
I'm the crazy one who thinks that words reach people.
Even so, I must admire your skill. You are so gracefully insane.
Poetry is my life, my postmark, my hands, my kitchen, my face.
Thief!- how did you crawl into, crawl down alone into the death I wanted so badly and for so long.