This is the last poem from this.
And then I'm just going to briefly mention this,
and then it's over.
[LAUGHTER]
So it looks like this.
I'm not reading this page.
I'm reading this page.
"Purgatory is cruel to poets.
A separate holding tank where every melancholy phrase was
invented.
A lifetime resisting adjusting to violence.
Pity creatures with the softest fur.
The more we dance, the better our poems.
Trying our best to cinch it, to hitch it to the jasmine
ascension."