Goodbye, Everybody! (suicide Note)

I Can Remember Much Forgetfulness.

And So She Comes To Dream Herself The Tree, The Wind Possessing Her, Weaving Her Young Veins, Holding Her To The Sky And Its Quick Blue, Drowning The Fever Of Her Hands In Sunlight. She Has No Memory, Nor Fear, Nor Hope Beyond The Grass And Shadows At Her Feet.

Love: A Burnt Match Skating In A Urinal.

Your Primary Presumption That The Bridge Was Proffered As An Epic Has No Substantial Foundation. You Know Quite Well That I Doubt That Our Present Stage Of Cultural Development Is So Ordered Yet As To Provide The Means Or Method For Such An Organic Manifestation As That.

Permit Me Voyage, Love, Into Your Hands.