...i Am The Immense Shadow Of My

Not For A Moment, Beautiful Aged Walt Whitman, Have I Failed To See Your Beard Full Of Butterflies.

At Five In The Afternoon. It Was Exactly Five In The Afternoon. A Boy Brought The White Sheet At Five In The Afternoon. A Frail Of Lime Ready Prepared At Five In The Afternoon. The Rest Was Death, And Death Alone

I'm Satisfied. I Am Progressively Making My Life And My Name In The Surest And Purest Manner. If I Catch On In The Theater, As I Think I Will, All The Doors Will Gladly Open Wide For Me.

Those Who Are Afraid Of Death Will Carry It On Their Shoulders.

Death, Lonely Death, Beneath The Withered Leaves.