All I Am Is The Trick Of

I Leave You, Home, When I'm Ripped From The Doorstep By Commerce Or Fate. Then I Submit To The Awful Subway Of The World.

Sometimes The Soul Takes Pictures Of Things It Has Wished For, But Never Seen.

True. There Is A Beautiful Jesus. He Is Frozen To His Bones Like A Chunk Of Beef. How Desperately He Wanted To Pull His Arms In! How Desperately I Touch His Vertical And Horizontal Axes! But I Can't. Need Is Not Quite Belief.

I Imitatea Memory Of Beliefthat I Do Not Own.

Poems Aren't Postcards To Send Home.