Poetry is my life, my postmark, my hands, my kitchen, my face.

... 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.

Love your self's self where it lives.

The place I live in is a kind of maze and I keep seeking the exit or the home.

I think I've been writing black poems all along, wearing my white mask. I'm always the victim ... but no longer!

My mouth blooms like a cut.

The boys and girls are one tonight. They unbutton blouses. They unzip flies. They take off shoes. They turn off the light. The glimmering creatures are full of lies. They are eating each other. They are overfed. At night, alone, I marry the bed.