Death Laid Its Eggs In The Wound

Even Money, Which Shines So Much, Spits Sometimes.

Oh Honey, There's Nothing New On This Earth When It Comes To What Men And Women Do In The Dark. First Love Is When You Learn. So You've Learned That Love Can Open You Up Like Spring Sun On A Wee Primrose. Good. Remember That. You Know How To Love.

What Matters Most Has An Ultimate Metallic Quality Of Death. The Chasuble And The Wagon Wheel, The Razor And The Prickly Beards Of Shepherds, The Bare Moon, A Fly, Humid Cupboards, Rubble Piles, The Images Of Saints Covered In Lace, Quicklime, And The Wounding Edges Of The Rooflines And Watchtowers.

As I Have Not Worried To Be Born, I Do Not Worry To Die.

We're All Like The Little Sailor. From The Harbors We Hear The Strains Of Accordions And The Murky Soapy Noises Of The Docks, From The Mountains We Receive The Dish Of Silence That The Shepherds Eat, But We Don't Hear More Than Our Own Distances. And What Distances Without End And Without Doors And Without Mountains!