Is There No Way Out Of The

You Have Lost All Delight In Life. Ahead Is A Large Array Of Blind Alleys. You Are Half-deliberately, Half-desperately Cutting Off Your Grip On Creative Life. You Are Becoming A Neuter Machine. You Cannot Love, Even If You Knew How To Begin To Love. Every Thought Is A Devil, A Hell-if You Could Do A Lot Of Things Over Again, Ah, How Differently You Would Do Them! You Want To Go Home, Back To The Womb. You Watch The World Bang Door After Door In Your Face, Numbly, Bitterly. You Have Forgotten The Secret You Knew, Once, Ah, Once, Of Being Joyous, Of Laughing, Of Opening Doors.

You Know What Lies Are For.

For The Few Little Successes I May Seem To Have, There Are Acres Of Misgivings And Self-doubt.

I Must Be Lean & Write & Make Worlds Beside This To Live In.

If The Body Is A Temple, Then Tattoos Are Its Stained Glass Windows.