Caught Between The Tongue And The Taste.

The Beloved's Innocence Brutalizes The Lover. As The Singing Of A Mad Person Behind You On The Train Enrages You, Its Beautiful Animal-like Teeth Shining Amid Black Planes Of Paint. As Helen Enrages History. Senza Uscita.

No One Will Ever Make Necessity Not Happen.

Small, Red, And Upright He Waited, Gripping His New Bookbag Tight In One Hand And Touching A Lucky Penny Inside His Coat Pocket With The Other, While The First Snows Of Winter Floated Down On His Eyelashes And Covered The Branches Around Him And Silenced All Trace Of The World.

The Self Forms At The Edge Of Desire, And A Science Of Self Arises In The Effort To Leave That Self Behind.

I Am A Drop Of Gold He Would Say I Am Molten Matter Returned From The Core Of Earth To Tell You Interior Things-