I Sank Back In The Gray, Plush

Jealousy Can Open The Blood, It Can Make Black Roses.

I Love My Rejection Slips. They Show Me I Try.

I Get Into A Rut, Unable To Yank My Mind Out Of It.

...we Shall Board Our Imagined Ship And Wildly Sail Among Sacred Islands Of The Mad Till Death Shatters The Fabulous Stars And Makes Us Real.

The Moon Is No Door. It Is A Face In Its Own Right, White As A Knuckle And Terribly Upset. It Drags The Sea After It Like A Dark Crime; It Is Quiet With The O-gape Of Complete Despair. I Live Here.