I Have Spent My Life Resisting The

Written Kisses Never Arrive At Their Destination; The Ghosts Drink Them Up Along The Way.

The Dream Reveals The Reality Which Conception Lags Behind. That Is The Horror Of Life-the Terror Of Art.

Like Tired Dogs They Stand There, Because They Use Up All Their Strength In Remaining Upright In One's Memory.

So Eager Are Our People To Obliterate The Present.

You See, I Have Only Such A Fugitive Awareness Of Things Around Me That I Always Feel They Were Once Real And Are Now Fleeting Away.