I Talk Too Much Because I Have

I Have A Narrative, But You Will Be Put To It To Find It.

Life Is Not To Be Told, Call It As Loud As You Like, It Will Not Tell Itself.

There's Something Evil In Me That Loves Evil And Degradation--purity's Black Backside! That Loves Honesty With A Horrid Love; Or Why Have I Always Gone Seeking It At The Liar's Door?

Sleep Demands Of Us A Guilty Immunity.

Of Course I Think Of The Past And Of Paris, What Else Is There To Remember?