Purple Does Something Strange To Me

There's No Chance At All: We Are All Trapped By A Singular Fate.

Bad Luck For The Young Poet Would Be A Rich Father, An Early Marriage, An Early Success Or The Ability To Do Anything Well.

Magic Persists Without Us No Matter What We May Do To Try To Spoil It

The Impossibility Of Being Human All Too Human This Breathing In And Out Out And In These Punks These Cowards These Champions These Mad Dogs Of Glory Moving This Little Bit Of Light Toward Us Impossibly.

‎"she’ Mad But She’ Magic. There’ No Lie In Her Fire.