Writing. Love Is Writing.

The Heart The Heart The Heart How It Thrives On Hate.

When The Shingles Hissed In The Rain Incendiary, Other Values Were Revealed To Us

Music Sets Up Ladders, It Makes Us Invisible, It Sets Us Apart, It Lets Us Escape; But From The Visible There Is No Escape.

Ah Love Is Bitter And Sweet, But Which Is More Sweet The Bitterness Or The Sweetness, None Has Spoken It.

War Wreaked On You His Hideous Ravishment; We, We Alone, Nereids Inviolate, Remain To Weep, With The Sea-birds To Chant: Corinth Is Lost, Corinth Is Desolate.