Talking About The Past Is Like A

But Sometimes Everything I Write With The Threadbare Art Of My Eye Seems A Snapshot

Once Fishing Was A Rabbit's Foot-- O Wind Blow Cold, O Wind Blow Hot

Their Monument Sticks Like A Fishbone In The City's Throat.

The World Is Absolutely Out Of Control Now And Is Not Going To Be Saved By Any Reason Or Unreason.

I Was Overcome With An Attack Of Pathological Enthusiasm.