O Heart, Such Disorganization!

I Have A Violence In Me That Is Hot As Death-blood.

I Think My Poems Immediately Come Out Of The Sensuous And Emotional Experiences I Have, But I Must Say I Cannot Sympathise With These Cries From The Heart That Are Informed By Nothing Except A Needle Or A Knife, Or Whatever It Is.

There Is More Than One Good Way To Drown.

And I Sit Here Without Identity: Faceless. My Head Aches.

When They Asked Me What I Wanted To Be I Said I Didn’t Know. "oh, Sure You Know," The Photographer Said. "she Wants," Said Jay Cee Wittily, "to Be Everything.