Your Body Hurts Me As The World

Love Is A Shadow. How You Lie And Cry After It

I Saw Myself Sitting In The Crotch Of This Fig Tree, Starving To Death, Just Because I Couldn't Make Up My Mind Which Of The Figs I Would Choose. I Wanted Each And Every One Of Them, But Choosing One Meant Loosing All The Rest, And, As I Sat There, Unable To Decide, The Figs Began To Wrinkle And Go Black, And, One By One, They Plopped To The Ground At My Feet.

I Have Been Holding A Dialogue With Myself And Girding Myself To Stand Fast Without Running.

Not Being Perfect Hurts.

I Must Be Lean & Write & Make Worlds Beside This To Live In.