To Most Women Art Is A Form

So I Walked Away And Left Him Standing There In The Moonlight - Watching Over Nothing.

He Dispensed Starlight To Casual Moths.

There's No Beauty Without Poignancy And There's No Poignancy Without The Feeling That It's Going, Men, Names, Books, Houses--bound For Dust--mortal--

So When The Blue Smoke Of Brittle Leaves Was In The Air And The Wind Blew The Wet Laundry Stiff On The Line I Decided To Come Back Home.

Nothing Any Good Isn't Hard.