It's A Little Mad, But I Believe

The Future Is A Fog That Is Still Hanging Out Over The Sea, A Boat That Floats Home Or Does Not. The Trade Winds Blow Me, And I Do Not Know Where The Land Is; The Waves Fold Over Each Other; They Are In Love With Themselves; Sleeping In Their Own Skin; And I Float Over Them And I Do Not Know About Tomorrow.

Our Eyes Are Full Of Terrible Confessions.

Death, I Need My Little Addiction To You. I Need That Tiny Voice Who, Even As I Rise From The Sea, All Woman, All There, Says Kill Me, Kill Me.

Let There Be A Heaven So That Man May Outlive His Grasses.

I Am Stuffing Your Mouth With Your Promises And Watching You Vomit Them Out Upon My Face.