The grass as bristly and stout as chives and me wondering when the ground will break and me wondering how anything fragile survives

It is June. I am tired of being brave.

... a starving man doesn't ask what the meal is.

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

... and my love stays bitterly glowing, spasms of it will not sleep, and I am helpless and thirsty and need shade but there is no one to cover me- not even God.

Rejoice with the day lily for it is born for a day to live by the mailbox and glorify the roadside

Everyone in me is a bird I am beating all my wings