The End Is In The Beginning And

You Would Do Better, At Least No Worse, To Obliterate Texts Than To Blacken Margins, To Fill In The Holes Of Words Till All Is Blank And Flat And The Whole Ghastly Business Looks Like What It Is, Senseless, Speechless, Issueless Misery.

We Have Time To Grow Old. The Air Is Full Of Our Cries. But Habit Is A Great Deadener.

I Gave Up Before Birth.

Light Black. From Pole To Pole.

Unfathomable Mind, Now Beacon, Now Sea.