We Must Be Moving, Working, Making Dreams

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

Love, Love, I Have Hung Our Cave With Roses.

If You Dissect A Bird / To Diagram The Tongue, / You'll Cut The Chord / Articulating Song.

Spiderlike, I Spin Mirrors, Loyal To My Image.

If I Have A Dry Spell ... I Wait And Live Harder, Eyes, Ears, And Heart Open, And When The Productive Time Comes, It Is That Much Richer.