Poetry is a phantom script telling how rainbows are made and why they go away.
I take you and pile high the memories. Death will break her claws on some I keep.
You know being born is important to you. You know nothing else was ever so important to you.
I'll die propped up in bed trying to do a poem about America.
I learned you can't trust the judgment of good friends.
To never see a fool you lock yourself in your room and smash the looking-glass.