FERTILE LITTLE GIRLS - HOW MANY TIMES I WROTE ABOUT THE HANDS THAT THREW ME, BODILY, HEAD DOWN IN THE MUD. AND LIKE THE HANDS I TOLD ABOUT THE MOUTHS THAT BLEW ME, THROTTLING, GAPING, CAKED IN FERTILE LITTLE GIRLS DRESSED IN ALARMING GARBAGE. LIARS SETTING FIRES, ENTANGLED IN MY WIRES. SO MANY YEARS I PINED FOR HONEY SLEEK AND CAJUN, TRICKED BY A HINT OF DEPTH AND STYLE. BUT I DO ADMIT, YOU SWINE, YOUR WALLOWING’S ENGAGING, MOPPING THE SLOP AND SWATTING FERTILE LITTLE GIRLS

- GIGANTIC COSMIC FAITH - YOU’RE A PEACH, LITTLE GIRL, I KNOW FOR CERTAIN. WHEN I PEEK THROUGH THE CRACK IN YOUR CURTAIN. DRY YOUR LITTLE BEATING HEART ON ME, WE CAN EVEN LEAVE IT OUT FOR ALL YOUR FRIENDS TO SEE. THERE’S A SPECIAL PLACE FOR THE HUMAN RACE TO REDEEM ITSELF THROUGH SUFFERING-- I FOUND IT, LITTLE GIRL. DON’T YOU WANNA REACH A STATE OF GIGANTIC COSMIC FAITH HERE ON THIS PLANET? I DON’T KNOW TOO MANY PEOPLE WHO COULD FIGURE IT OUT. ‘CAUSE YOU’RE A PEACH, I KNOW FOR CERTAIN. I CAN’T TEACH THAT KIND OF PERSON. I ALWAYS OVER-REACH BUT I RE-TUCK MY SHIRT IN. YOU GET THE GOOD STUFF SLOW. IT MIGHT COME FAST BUT PROBABLY WON’T.

- HOSE DOWN - I’LL BE YOUR PRESIDENT AND EVERY RESIDENT WILL GET A HOSE DOWN. BUSINESS WILL TRICKLE IN, YOU PUT A NICKEL IN, YOU GET A HOSE DOWN. I NEVER MET’CHA, NEVER SEEN YOUR FACE. I WAS READING YOUR HAND LIKE A LIBRARY BOOK, TURNING THE PAGES WITH TWEEZERS ‘CAUSE LOOK, IT’S A FACT THAT EVERYTHING’S UNCLEAN AND RUINED BY THE TIME I GET IT. THAT’S NOT A COMMENT ON YOUR OWN PERSONAL HYGIENE OR HOSPITAL STAYS OR LACK OF ATTENTION TO POSSIBLE POINTS OF INFECTION, BUT EVERYTHING’S UNCLEAN AND RUINED

- AMERICA NEEDS ME - MOUNTAINS IN OUR REAR-VIEW MIRROR, SINKING LOWER AS WE ROW HER TO THE SHORE. WE WERE BORN BETWEEN TWO STORMS, THE VERY SAME STORMS THAT CARRY US ON A WAVE, ‘TIL WE FIND A THORNY ISLAND FAR AWAY. IF THERE’S GOLD BENEATH THEIR THORNS, WE’LL BURY THEIR THORNS AND CARRY OUR GOLD AWAY, ‘TIL WE FIND A FINER ISLAND. THE WICKED SMASH AND GRAB IT, CATCH AND TAG IT, WE TAKES WHATEVER WE NEEDS. BUT UNDER PROTEST, MAYBE, NOT MY BABY SHE’S SO TAN, YOU WANT A PEEK? IT’S A MATTER OF COURSE, WE ALWAYS RODE HER RAGGED, WE ALWAYS PUT THE CART BEFORE THE HORSE, THE WICKED SMASH AND GRAB IT, CATCH AND TAG IT, SHE’S SO TAN YOU WANNA TOO. AMERICA NEEDS ME TO DANCE AROUND THE OBVIOUS DECLINE.

- NOT PROUD - I WAS RUNNING ROUGHSHOD OVER WITLESS STRANGERS AT THE ST. JOHN’S CHRISTMAS PLAY (I POURED MY GLASS OUT IN THE MANGER). IN THE PARLANCE OF A COLLEGE BUSINESS MAJOR. THEY COULD HEAR THE BUSINESS IN MY SLUR BUT NEEDED A TRANSLATOR. I’M NOT PROUD OF IT ALL. WHAT’S BEHIND THAT BATHROOM MIRROR AN INVITATION, I FEEL EYES AROUND ME (I STUFFED MY EARS SO I SLEEP SOUNDLY) WATCH ME TOSS AWAY THESE YEARS LIKE A PAPER BOY ON WHIRLING WHEELS OF SHAME. NOT PROUD OF IT ALL. IT’S THE FIRST THING THAT I THINK OF AND THE WORST THING.

- HEAD IN HAT - WHA'JA BLEACH YOUR SHEETS FOR? DON’T BE ASHAMED. SHE BLED LIKE GLISTENING HOOKS OF VENISON IN THE BED THAT I WROTE THIS LETTER IN TO GET HER IN THE WEEDS AND MAKING HAY. DON’T WRITE BACK, HONEY PLEASE, YOU’RE WASTING YOUR TIME. LIKE IT WAS A COLD FACT THAT YOU MUST’VE LOST YOUR HEAD IN YOUR HAT, IT’S AS SIMPLE AS THAT. ALL THE DUST I SWEEP UP, TWO INCHES DEEP, LIKE GUTS I STUFF INSIDE YOUR VOODOO DOLL. SAY A PRAYER FOR THE WITS AND WHEREWITHAL TO BEAR IT ALL OR WRENCH YOUR HEART AWAY. DON’T FIGHT BACK, HONEY PLEASE, YOU’RE WASTING YOUR TIME... DON’T YOU TEASE MY DOG WITH YOUR RATTLES AND BONES. I’M CHAINED BUT MY TOOTH LONGS FOR YOUR VEIN. DO YOU MAKE NOISE WHEN YOU FALL IF THERE’S NO ONE THERE AT ALL? NO MORE SLEEPING IN OR COOKING UP THOSE SCHEMES YOU TRAFFIC IN. DON’T FIGHT BACK...