Noon, Ripe As Thunder And Silent As

I Want A Lot To Eat, I'm Going To Think Today.

His Was Not The Hatred That Arises Suddenly Like A Storm And As Suddenly Abates. It Was, Once The Initial Shock Of Anger And Pain Was Over, A Calculated Thing That Grew In A Bloodless Way.

Why Break The Heart That Never Beat From Love?

The Moon Slid Inexorably Into Its Zenith, The Shadows Shrivelling To The Feet Of All That Cast Them, And As Rantel Approached The Hollow At The Hem Of The Twisted Woods He Was Treading In A Pool Of His Own Midnight.

For What Use Are Books To Anyone Whose Days Are Like A Rook's Nest With Every Twig A Duty.