Guilt Always Hurries Towards Its Complement, Punishment:

We Are The Children Of Our Landscape; It Dictates Behavior And Even Thought In The Measure To Which We Are Responsive To It.

Frost In January Minus 20 For A Week. Dead Birds Frozen On The Branch—they Fall With The First Thaw Like Ripe Fruit—death-ripened. We Shall All End Like Them—just A Stain In The Snow.

Prohibitions Create The Desire They Were Intended To Cure.

A Taste Older Than Meat, Older Than Wine. A Taste As Old As Cold Water.

Music Is Only Love Looking For Words.