I Didn’t Want Any Flowers, I Only

The One Thing I Was Good At Was Winning Scholarships And Prizes, And That Era Was Coming To An End.

We Walk The Plank With Strangers.

Worse Even Than Your Maddening Song, Your Silence.

On The Train: Staring Hypnotized At The Blackness Outside The Window, Feeling The Incomparable Rhythmic Language Of The Wheels, Clacking Out Nursery Rhymes, Summing Up Moments Of The Mind Like The Chant Of A Broken Record: God Is Dead, God Is Dead. Going, Going, Going. And The Pure Bliss Of This, The Erotic Rocking Of The Coach. France Splits Open Like A Ripe Fig In The Mind; We Are Raping The Land, We Are Not Stopping.

What A Man Wants Is A Mate And What A Woman Wants Is Infinite Security.