I Am Quite Content To Go Down

Our Souls, Shamewounded By Our Sins, Cling To Us Yet More, A Woman To Her Lover Clinging, The More The More. She Trusts Me, Her Hand Gentle, The Longlashed Eyes. Now Where The Blue Hell Am I Bringing Her Beyond The Veil? Into The Ineluctable Modality Of The Ineluctable Visuality. She, She, She. What She?

And When All Was Said And Done The Lies A Fellow Told About Himself Couldn't Probably Hold A Proverbial Candle To The Wholesale Whoppers Other Fellows Coined About Him.

Death, A Cause Of Terror To The Sinner, Is A Blessed Moment For Him Who Has Walked In The Right Path.

There Is An Atmosphere Of Spiritual Effort Here. No Other City Is Quite Like It. I Wake Early, Often At 5 O'clock, And Start Writing At Once.

O Cold ! O Shivery ! It Was Your Ambrosial Beauty. Forget, Forgive. Kismet. Let Me Off This Once.