One Is Given To Self-dramatization From Time

We Are Awakening From The Dream Of Isolation, From The Dream Of Loneliness, And It's A Terrible Shock.

Your Hair Upon The Pillow Like A Sleepy Golden Storm

You Lose Your Grip, And Then You Slip Into The Masterpiece.

Certainly Within Any Decadent Period, You Would Probably Find The Purest Expressions Of Conviction, And I Do Not See That In Many Of The People I Know.

And I'll Bury My Soul In A Scrapbook, With The Photographs There And The Moths.