I Stumble Through A Carnival Of Horrors

In A Way He Made Me Think Of A Child Doll, With Briliant Faintly Red-brown Glass Eyes - A Doll That Had Been Found In An Attic. I Wanted To Polish Him With Kisses, Clean Him Up, Make Him Evevn More Radiant Than He Was. "that's What You Always Want," He Said Softly... "when You Found Me Under Les Innocents," He Said, "you Wanted To Bathe Me With Perfume And Dress Me In Velvevt With Great Embroidered Sleeves." "yes," I Said, "and Comb Your Hair, Your Beautiful Russet Hair." My Tone Was Angry. "you Look Good To Me, You Damnable Little Devil, Good To Embrace And Good To Love.

As They Die, The Ones We Love, We Lose Our Witnesses, Our Watchers, Those Who Know And Understand The Tiny Little Meaningless Patterns, Those Words Drawn In Water With A Stick. And There Is Nothing Left But The Endless Flow.

How Can So Much Beauty Hide Such A Bruised And Steely Heart, And Why Must I Love Him, Why Must I Lean In My Weariness Upon His Irresistible Yet Indomitable Strength? Is He Not The Wizend Funeral Spirit Of A Dead Man In A Child's Clothes?

I Wish We Had More Visible Christian And Catholic Leaders Who Talked About Love.

What Is Written Beneath This Heavy Handsome Book Cover Will Count, So Sayeth This Cover.