Sing And Your Hell Is Heaven, Your

Who Dreams Of A Son, Save One, Childless, Having No Bright Face To Flatter Its Own, Who Dreams Of A Son?

I Spit Honey Out Of My Mouth: Nothing Is Second-best After The Sweet Of Eros.

Let Love Step Down, Open The Clasped Hands, Forfeit The Thorny Crown, Retrieve The Garment That Was Whole, Body And Spirit One, Spirit And Soul.

I Could Not Accept From Wisdom What Love Taught, Woman Is Perfect.

The Christos-image Is Most Difficult To Disentangle From Its Art-craft Junk-shop Paint-and-plaster Medieval Jumble Of Pain-worship And Death-symbol.