It Was As If A Morning-glory Had

Well, One Gets Out Of Bed And The Planets Don't Always Hiss Or Muck Up The Day, Each Day.

I Wonder If The Artist Ever Lives His Life--he Is So Busy Recreating It.

I Am Torn In Two But I Will Conquer Myself.

Then All This Became History. Your Hand Found Mine. Life Rushed To My Fingers Like A Blood Clot. Oh, My Carpenter, The Fingers Are Rebuilt. They Dance With Yours.

The Saints Come, As Human As A Mouth, With A Bag Of God In Their Backs, Like A Hunchback, They Come, They Come Marching In.