The Sky Will Bow Down To Your

Everything You See Has Its Roots In The Unseen World. The Forms May Change, Yet The Essence Remains The Same.

This Poetry. I Never Know What I'm Going To Say. I Don't Plan It. When I'm Outside The Saying Of It, I Get Very Quiet And Rarely Speak At All.

You Must Lance An Ulcer To Heal It. You Must Tear Down Parts Of An Old Building To Restore It, And So It Is With A Sensual Life That Has No Spirit In It.

I Have Been So Naughted In Thy Love's Existence That My Nonexistence Is A Thousand Times Sweeter Than My Existence

Open Your Hands If You Want To Be Held.