Even So, I Must Admire Your Skill.

Thumbs Grow Into My Throat. I Wear Slaps Like A Spot Of Rouge.

Depression Is Boring, I Think And I Would Do Better To Make Some Soup And Light Up The Cave.

I Imitatea Memory Of Beliefthat I Do Not Own.

As A Writer One Has To Take The Chance On Being A Fool.

The Place I Live In Is A Kind Of Maze And I Keep Seeking The Exit Or The Home.