high orange, tight-trees in a windbox and i / am not there to see them,
every fall becomes like this, a madhouse, and mockery — of hope, little thing, what do you have left to believe in — hyperactivity of mind creates hyperactivity of body? — do you still believe you have potential, something will happen? dreams deferred — falling back on the knife
dreams Deferred, i know what happens — it build and builds / explodes upon the self. look at me, no-good new-blood confessional poet. and all the clocks turn inward, and bleed out! and all the women say, she could not be; one of us — look how desperate she is to make a gender of pain, as if she has
another choice!
the last pavilion 