It Is June. I Am Tired Of

Watch Out For Intellect, Because It Knows So Much It Knows Nothing And Leaves You Hanging Upside Down, Mouthing Knowledge As Your Heart Falls Out Of Your Mouth.

Need Is Not Quite Belief.

It Doesn't Matter Who My Father Was; It Matters Who I Remember He Was.

I Was Only Sitting Here In My White Study With The Awful Black Words Pushing Me Around.

God Went Out Of Me As If The Sea Dried Up Like Sandpaper, As If The Sun Became A Latrine.