I Am Composed Of Contradictions, Which Is

I Think That I Am Here, On This Earth, To Present A Report On It, But To Whom I Don't Know. As If I Were Sent So That Whatever Takes Place Has Meaning Because It Changes Into Memory.

The Voice Of Passion Is Better Than The Voice Of Reason. The Passionless Cannot Change History.

I Imagine The Earth When I Am No More: Women's Dresses, Dewy Lilacs, A Song In The Valley. Yet The Books Will Be There On The Shelves, Well Born, Derived From People, But Also From Radiance, Heights.

Grow Your Tree Of Falsehood From A Small Grain Of Truth.

All Was Taken Away From You: White Dresses, Wings, Even Existence. Yet I Believe You, Messengers. There, Where The World Is Turned Inside Out, A Heavy Fabric Embroidered With Stars And Beasts, You Stroll, Inspecting The Trustworthy Seams.