The Lord Survives The Rainbow Of His

If Youth Is A Defect, It Is One We Outgrow Too Soon.

In The End, Every Hypochondriac Is His Own Prophet.

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

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

Everywhere, Giant Finned Cars Nose Forward Like Fish; A Savage Servility Slides By On Grease.