I Would Like To Bury All The

It Would Be Pleasant To Be Drunk.

I Have Forgiven All The Old Actors For Dying. A New One Comes On With The Same Lines, Like Large White Growths, In His Mouth. The Dancers Come On From The Wings, Perfectly Mated.

All I Wanted Was A Little Piece Of Life, To Be Married, To Have Children.... I Was Trying My Damnedest To Lead A Conventional Life, For That Was How I Was Brought Up, And It Was What My Husband Wanted Of Me. But One Can't Build Little White Picket Fences To Keep The Nightmares Out.

Someone Is Dead. Even The Trees Know It, Those Poor Old Dancers Who Come On Lewdly, All Pea-green Scarfs And Spine Pole.

Sorrow Is Easier Than Guilt.