Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds
Poems in Letters, part 1

Someone's on the doorstep, passed out
swollen white dyke with an extinct 
worry: white worry...
Where is my turtle scout, 
boy mixed from rub & spring, 
my big fertile mistake---
I wash the knives, to get rid of the black stains.
How did nibbles & pins turn into thick chewy corn?
I'm a stranger to corn
& stranger to this house,
torn up & raked by sweet ass crows.
Lucy I found your note waiting for me on the kitchen table.

"Dear Camille,
We appear in our meat clothes and then erode. It's forty three by the clock. Now 
I've got these big boobs and a sturdy helping of meaty muscular. But I'm casting 
my ear to the winds, so to speak. Pulling my eyeballs out of the mud. That is 
personal. The deal with history, as I fill up my shelf, as I clutter it:  my 
story will outlast the tale. The daffodils with their yellow shock, the mental 
shock of yellow upthrust from green, it's so french. I mean I've had this story 
all along and I've waited for it to become... uh, like animal skin.
---Lucy"

camille roy