Comes The Time When It's Later And

God Give You Pardon From Gratitude And Other Mild Forms Of Servitude.

Hopefully, I Write What I Don't Know.

Suddenly The Whole Imagination Of Writing And Editorial And Newspaper And All These Presumptions About Who Am I Reading This, And Who Else Other People May Be, And All That, It's So Grimly Brutal!

It Is Hard Going To The Door Cut So Small In The Wall Where The Vision Which Echoes Loneliness Brings A Scent Of Wild Flowers In The Wood.

My Love's Manners In Bed Are Not To Be Discussed By Me