Let There Be A Heaven So That

A Woman / Who Loves A Woman / Is Forever Young.

Letters Are False Really - They Are Expressions Of The Way You Wish You Were Instead Of The Way You Are.

Our Checks Are Pale. Our Wallets Are Invalids. Past Due, Past Due, Is What Our Bills Are Saying And Yet We Kiss In Every Corner, Scuffing The Dust And The Cat. Love Rises Like Bread As We Go Bust.

... And My Love Stays Bitterly Glowing, Spasms Of It Will Not Sleep, And I Am Helpless And Thirsty And Need Shade But There Is No One To Cover Me- Not Even God.

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