There Is Rust In My Mouth,the Stain

Suicides Have A Special Language. Like Carpenters They Want To Know Which Tools. They Never Ask Why Build.

I Am Not Lazy. I Am On The Amphetamine Of The Soul. I Am, Each Day, Typing Out The God My Typewriter Believes In.

If You Meet A Cross-eyed Person You Must Plunge Into The Grass, Alongside The Chilly Ants, Fish Through The Green Fingernails And Come Up With The Four-leaf Clover.

Today God Gives Milk / And I Have The Pail.

All Considerations For These Human Remains! They Must Have An Escort! They Are Classified!