Wallowing In This Bloody Sty, I Cast

Talking About The Past Is Like A Cat's Trying To Explain Climbing Down A Ladder.

Those Blessed Structures, Plot And Rhyme-- Why Are They No Help To Me Now I Want To Make Something Imagined, Not Recalled?

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

In The End, There Is No End.

Wallowing In This Bloody Sty, I Cast For Fish That Pleased My Eye