We Get Something To Do And As

A Southern Moon Is A Sodden Moon, And Sultry. When It Swamps The Fields And The Rustling Sandy Roads And The Sticky Honeysuckle Hedges In Its Sweet Stagnation, Your Fight To Hold On To Reality Is Like A Protestation Against A First Waft Of Ether.

I Suppose All We Can Really Share With People Is A Taste For The Same Kinds Of Weather.

Don't You Think I Was Made For You? I Feel Like You Had Me Ordered - And I Was Delivered To You - To Be Worn. I Want You To Wear Me, Like A Watch-charm Or A Buttonhole Bouquet.

The Sky Lay Over The City Like A Map Showing The Strata Of Things And The Big Full Moon Toppled Over In A Furrow Like The Abandoned Wheel Of A Gun Carriage On A Sunset Field Of Battle And The Shadows Walked Like Cats And I Looked Into The White And Ghostly Interior Of Things And Thought Of You And I Looked On Their Structural Outsides And Thought Of You And Was Lonesome.

One Illusion Is As Good As Another.