I’m Lost. And It’s My Own Fault.

The Body Is A Damn Hard Thing To Kill.

To Be Without God Is To Be A Snake / Who Wants To Swallow An Elephant.

Of Course The New Testament Is Very Small. Its Mouth Opens Four Times As Out-of-date As A Prehistoric Monster, Yet Somehow Man-made.

I Said, The Poets Are There I Hear Them Singing And Lying Around Their Round Table And Around Me Still.

There Is A Good Look That I Wear Like A Blood Clot. I Have Sewn It Over My Left Breast. I Have Made A Vocation Of It.