This Is No Dream Just My Oily

God Owns Heaven But He Craves The Earth.

Here In The Hospital, I Say,that Is Not My Body, Not My Body.i Am Not Here For The Doctorsto Read Like A Recipe.

You See, We Live In A Cold Climate And Are Not Permitted To Kiss On The Street So I Made Up A Song That Wasn't True. I Made Up A Song Called Marriage.

She Suffers According To The Digits Of My Hate. I Hear The Filaments Of Alabaster. I Would Lie Down With Them And Lift My Madness Off Like A Wig. I Would Lie Outside In A Room Of Wool And Let The Snow Cover Me. Paris White Or Flake White Or Argentine, All In The Washbasin Of My Mouth, Calling “oh.” I Am Empty. I Am Witless. Death Is Here. There Is No Other Settlement.

The Body Is A Damn Hard Thing To Kill.