About Suffering They Were Never Wrong, The

In Times Of Joy, All Of Us Wished We Possessed A Tail We Could Wag.

I Used To Try And Concentrate The Poem So Much That There Wasn't A Word That Wasn't Essential. This Leads To Becoming Boring And Constipated.

Language Is The Mother, Not The Handmaiden, Of Thought; Words Will Tell You Things You Never Thought Or Felt Before.

Sob, Heavy World Sob As You Spin, Mantled In Mist Remote From The Happy.

When One Looks Into The Window Of A Store Which Sells Devotional Art Objects, One Can't Help Wishing The Iconoclasts Had Won.