And The Stars Were Icicles Of Mockery

So I Rushed Past The Pretty Girls, And The Prettiest Girls In The World Live In Des Moines.

The Bus Roared Through Indiana Cornfields That Night; The Moon Illuminated The Ghostly Gathered Husks; It Was Almost Halloween. I Made The Acquaintance Of A Girl And We Necked All The Way To Indianapolis. She Was Nearsighted. When We Got Off To Eat I Had To Lead Her By The Hand To The Lunch Counter. She Bought My Meals; My Sandwiches Were All Gone. In Exchange I Told Her Long Stories.

Some's Bastards, Some's Ain't. That's The Score.

Mind Is The Maker, For No Reason At All, For All This Creation, Created To Fall.

It Was The Work Of The Quiet Mountains, This Torrent Of Purity At My Feet.