Magic Persists Without Us No Matter What

Many A Good Man Has Been Put Under The Bridge By A Woman.

I Am Going To Start Selling Air In Dark Orange Bags Marked: Moon-blooms

Pretty Words, As Pretty Women, Wrinkle Up And Die.

Angels, We Have Grown Apart.

I Held Her Wrists And Then I Got It Through The Eyes: Hatred, Centuries Deep And True. I Was Wrong And Graceless And Sick. All The Things I Had Learned Had Been Wasted. There Was No Creature Living As Foul As I And All My Poems Were False.