Long Ago, Among Other Lies They Were

Mercy, I Think, Doesn't The Human Race Know Anything About Mercy?

One Can Never Be Sure Whether It's Good Poetry Or Bad Acid

We Waste Days Like Mad Blackbirds And Pray For Alcoholic Nightsour Silk-sick Human Smiles Wrap Around Us Like Somebody Else's Confetti

You Are Thirty Minutes Late." "yes." "would You Be Thirty Minutes Late To A Wedding Or A Funeral?" "no." "why Not, Pray Tell?" "well, If The Funeral Was Mine I'd Have To Be On Time. If The Wedding Was Mine It Would Be My Funeral.

Dying Should Come Easy: Like A Freight Train You Don't Hear When Your Back Is Turned.