Shake The Tree Of Life Itself And

I Cannot Find My Way: There Is No Star In All The Shrouded Heavens Anywhere

Seizing The Swift Logic Of A Woman, Curse God And Die.

Are We No Greater Than The Noise We Make Along One Blind Atomic Pilgrimage Whereon By Crass Chance Billeted We Go Because Our Brains And Bones And Cartilage Will Have It So?

The Stillness Of October Gold Went Out Like Beauty From A Face.

Youth Sees Too Far To See How Near It Is To Seeing Farther.