If Only A Group Of People Were

The Day I Went Into Physics Class It Was Death.

And I, Stepping From This Skin Of Old Bandages, Boredoms, Old Faces Step To You From The Black Car Of Lethe, Pure As A Baby.

The Claw Of The Magnolia, Drunk On Its Own Scents, Asks Nothing Of Life.

Sometimes I Feel So Stupid And Dull And Uncreative That I Am Amazed When People Tell Me Differently.

I Felt Overstuffed And Dull And Disappointed, The Way I Always Do The Day After Christmas.