A Pretty Girl Who Is Naked /

Our Can'ts Were Born To Happen Our Mosts Have Died In More

In A Middle Of A Room Stands A Suicide Sniffing A Paper Rose Smiling To A Self "somewhere It Is Spring And Sometimes People Are In Real:imagine Somewhere Real Flowers,but I Can't Imagine Real Flowers For If I Could,they Would Somehow Not Be Real" (so He Smiles Smiling)"but I Will Not Everywhere Be Real To You In A Moment" The Is Blond With Small Hands "& Everything Is Easier Than I Had Guessed Everything Would Be;even Remembering The Way Who Looked At Whom First,anyhow Dancing

Notice The Convulsed Orange Inch Of Moon Perching On This Silver Minute Of Evening

Suppose Life Is An Old Man Carrying Flowers On His Head.

If 180 Million People Want To Be Undead, That’s Their Funeral, But I Happen To Like Being Alive.