Evil Is Maybe Lying To God. Or

Unless I Can Shake Myself Free Of My Dog, My Flag, Of My Desk, My Mind, I Find Life A Bit Of A Drag. Not Always, Mind You. Usually I'm Like My Frying Pan Useful, Graceful, Sturdy And With No Caper, No Plan.

I Hoard Books. They Are People Who Do Not Leave.

I Tell You What You’ll Never Really Know: All The Medical Hypothesis That Explained My Brain Will Never Be As True As These Struck Leaves Letting Go.

Watch Out For Love (unless It Is True, And Every Part Of You Says Yes Including The Toes), It Will Wrap You Up Like A Mummy, And Your Scream Won't Be Heard And None Of Your Running Will Run.

Perhaps I Am No One. True, I Have A Body And I Cannot Escape From It. I Would Like To Fly Out Of My Head, But That Is Out Of The Question.