Death Is A Master From Germany.

There Was Earth Inside Them, And They Dug.

Poetry Is A Sort Of Homecoming.

No One Bears Witness For The Witness

A Nothing We Were, Are, Shall Remain, Flowering: The Nothing--, The No One's Rose.

With A Changing Key, You Unlock The House Where The Snow Of What’s Silenced Drifts. Just Like The Blood That Bursts From Your Eye Or Mouth Or Ear, So Your Key Changes. Changing Your Key Changes The Word That May Drift With Flakes. Just Like The Wind That Rebuffs You, Clenched Round Your Word Is The Snow.