Were All Moving, Moving, Moving. Isnt It

Fact Is Based Upon Vulgar Matter.

I'm Trying To Climb Up Both Walls At Once.

I Don't Live For Poetry. I Live Far More Than Anybody Else Does.

The Flowers Are Ravined By Bees, The Fruit Blossoms Are Thrown To The Ground, The Wind The Rain Forces Everything.

Of Rhythm Is Image / Of Image Is Knowing / Of Knowing There Is / A Construct