What Happens In The Heart Simply Happens.

The World's Decay Where The Wind's Hands Have Passed, And My Head, Worn Out With Love, At Rest In My Hands, And My Hands Full Of Dust.

What’s Writing Really About? It’s About Trying To Take Fuller Possession Of The Reality Of Your Life.

Do As You Like With Me. I'm Your Parcel. I Have Only Our Address On Me. Open Me, Or Readdress Me.

The Gash In Its Throat Was Shocking, But Not Pathetic.

Nothing Has Changed Since I Began. My Eye Has Permitted No Change. I Am Going To Keep Things Like This.