What Kind Of Beast Would Turn Its

Grief Held Back From The Lips Wears At The Heart; The Drop That Refused To Join The River Dried Up In The Dust.

Those Who Speak Largely Of The Human Condition Are Usually Those Most Exempt From Its Oppressions - Whether Of Sex, Race, Or Servitude.

No One Has Imagined Us. We Want To Live Like Trees, Sycamores Blazing Through The Sulfuric Air, Dappled With Scars, Still Exuberantly Budding, Our Animal Passion Rooted In The City.

No One Sleeps In This Room Without The Dream Of A Common Language.

We Must Use What We Have To Invent What We Desire.