Time Is The Coin Of Life. Only

When I Was Writing Pretty Poor Poetry, This Girl With Midnight Black Hair Told Me To Go On.

A Liar Is A Liar And Lives On The Lies He Tells And Dies In A Life Of Lies.

Pile The Bodies High At Austerlitz And Waterloo. Shovel Them Under And Let Me Work. I Am The Grass. I Cover All.

The Woman Named Tomorrow Sits With A Hairpin In Her Teeth And Takes Her Time

I Took To Wearing A Black Tie Known As The Ascot, With Long Drooping Ends. I Had Seen Pictures Of Painters, Sculptors, Poets, Wearing This Style Of Tie.