A lot of these poems are poems of other people's dreams
that they would tell to me.
And then I would write them a poem.
This one-- I don't know if he's ever read it, actually--
but this is a dream that my father told me
about a few years ago.
It's called "Lake."
I dive into the lake and cut my chest open
on a piece of broken glass.
The giant shard of glass goes through my chest
and out of my back.
When I stand up out of the water,
I look like a statue in a blood fountain.
The only person on shore who can hear me is a woman with a baby.
Here, take my baby, she says.
And she walks into the water and hands me her baby.
But I'm bleeding to death, I say.
But it's for you, she says.
[LAUGHTER]