Forgive Me If I Sleep Until I

I'm One Of The Cliches That Has Grown Up.

All That Matters Is That The Thing Be The Thing Of The Thing.

I'm Sorry, But I Was Born With A Towel On My Head.

The Body Whips The Soul. In Its Great Desire It Demands The Elixir In The Roar Of Spring, Transmutations.

An American Is A Complex Of Occasions, Themselves A Geometry Of Spatial Nature.