I Grow Old On My

Those Moments Before A Poem Comes, When The Heightened Awareness Comes Over You, And You Realize A Poem Is Buried There Somewhere, You Prepare Yourself. I Run Around, You Know, Kind Of Skipping Around The House, Marvelous Elation. It’s As Though I Could Fly.

I Burn The Way Money Burns.

Someone Is Dead. Even The Trees Know It, Those Poor Old Dancers Who Come On Lewdly, All Pea-green Scarfs And Spine Pole.

As It Has Been Said: Love And A Cough Cannot Be Concealed. Even A Small Cough. Even A Small Love.

To Be Without God Is To Be A Snake / Who Wants To Swallow An Elephant.