Power Is All. Another Falsification; I Do

Endings To Be Useful Must Be Inconclusive.

'you Spin In The Sky, The World Spins Under You, And You Step From Land To Land, While We . . .' She Turned Her Head Right, Left, And Her Black Hair Curled And Uncurled On The Shoulder Of Her Coat. 'we Have Our Dull, Circled Lives, Bound In Gravity, Worshiping You!'

Apocalypse Has Come And Gone. We're Just Grubbing In The Ashes.

Ambition Like A Liquid Ruby Stains.

A Poet Is Wounded Into Speech, And He Examines These Wounds, Meticulously, To Discover How To Heal Them. The Bad Poet Harangues At The Pain And Yowls At The Weapons That Lacerate Him; The Great Poet Explores The Inflamed Lips Of Ruined Flesh With Ice-caked Fingers, Glittering And Precise; But Ultimately His Poem Is The Echoing, Dual Voice Reporting The Damages.