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first cannibal after november blind to not be numb dream (four times) forgetfulness angel first morning laconic drown deep maidenhead milk this wake dark blue rotten scorpio little v. flea from me to you exit dry the lines left behind guilty sever desire falling slowly esperando dark spiral sparkle confetti bodies pound beats	wake I cry once a week; not for some injustice or broken word Not even for attention (because generally it's a smothered thing, hidden) But life has developed, in the wake of its motions, an overwhelming sense of tragedy which pervades my beaming heart, and breaks it Again and again. 10/94	next >