Life Begins To Happen. My Hoppped Up

Pity The Planet, All Joy Gone From This Sweet Volcanic Cone; Peace To Our Children When They Fall In Small War On The Heel Of Small War--until The End Of Time To Police The Earth, A Ghost Orbiting Forever Lost In Our Monotonous Sublime

Those Blessed Structures, Plot And Rhyme-- Why Are They No Help To Me Now I Want To Make Something Imagined, Not Recalled?

If Youth Is A Defect, It Is One We Outgrow Too Soon.

Wallowing In This Bloody Sty, I Cast For Fish That Pleased My Eye

I Myself Am Hell; Nobody's Here