It Is June. I Am Tired Of

Being Kissed On The Back Of The Knee Is A Moth At The Windowscreen.

Mood Can Be As Important As Sense.

I Grow Old On My Bitterness.

Psychiatry Is A Dirty Mirror.

I Am Younger Each Year At The First Snow. When I See It, Suddenly, In The Air, All Little And White And Moving; Then I Am In Love Again And Very Young And I Believe Everything.