At The Moment I'm So Exhausted That

Whence, If Ever, Shall Come The Actualityof A Voice Speaking The Mind's Knowing,the Sunlight Bright On The Green Windowshade,and The Self Articulate, Affectionate, And Flowing,ease, Warmth, Light, The Utter Showing,when In The White Bed All Things Are Made.

I Am A Book I Neither Wrote Nor Read.

Is It Not Clear That A Reviewer's Psyche, Like An Iceberg, Is Seven-eighths Beneath The Surface?

O Your Life, Your Lonely Lifewhat Have You Ever Done With It,and Done With The Great Gift Of Consciousness?what Will You Ever Do Before Death's Knifeprovides The Answer Ultimate And Appropriate?as I For My Part Felt In My Heart As One Who Falls,falls In A Parachute, Falls Endlessly, And Feels The Vastdraft Of The Abyss Sucking Him Down And Down,an Endlessly Helplessly Falling And Appalled Clown:this Is The Way The Night Passes By, Thisis The Overnight Endless Trip To The Famous Unfathomable Abyss.

I Got Married The Second Time In The Way That, When A Murder Is Committed, Crackpots Turn Up At The Police Station To Confess The Crime.