I’m Lost. And It’s My Own Fault.

Oh Thumb, I Want A Drink It Is Dark, Where Are The Big People, When Will I Get There...?

Somebody Who Should Have Been Born Is Gone.

Today Life Opened Inside Me Like An Egg.

Bless All Useful Objects, The Spoons Made Of Bone, The Mattress I Cook My Dreams Upon, The Typewriter That Is My Church With An Altar Of Keys Always Waiting.

The Future Is A Fog That Is Still Hanging Out Over The Sea, A Boat That Floats Home Or Does Not. The Trade Winds Blow Me, And I Do Not Know Where The Land Is; The Waves Fold Over Each Other; They Are In Love With Themselves; Sleeping In Their Own Skin; And I Float Over Them And I Do Not Know About Tomorrow.