Throw your Bibles away.
Throw your Qur’ans away...

In the dolls’ realm,
everything happens...

Why does this wound
never close, never heal...

To protect their heaven,
they have forged hell within their hearts...

I am Poetry,
the first wound of silence...

The contact point of continuance is simple: I have...
I have carved a void to whirl inside. It is a...

The mare of sorrow,
she drinks from the well...

Butterflies, butterflies
here and there...

(for Ben Picard)
We no longer learn from one another...

Still she waits.
Still she burns...

And the lover cried out—
I burned my youth...

The hands of the clock
are not accidental...