And The Aura Of You Remains, Remains,

You Lay, A Small Knuckle On My White Bed; Lay, That Fist Like A Snail, Small And Strong At My Breast. Your Lips Are Animals; You Are Fed With Love. At First, Hunger Is Not Wrong.

If I Could Blame It On All The Mothers And Fathers Of The World, They Of The Lessons, The Pellets Of Power, They Of The Love Surrounding You Like Batter ... Blame It On God Perhaps? He Of The First Opening That Pushed Us All Into Our First Mistakes? No, I'll Blame It On Man For Man Is God And Man Is Eating The Earth Up Like A Candy Bar And Not One Of Them Can Be Left Alone With The Ocean For It Is Known He Will Gulp It All Down. The Stars (possibly) Are Safe. At Least For The Moment. The Stars Are Pears That No One Can Reach, Even For A Wedding. Perhaps For A Death.

As It Has Been Said: Love And A Cough Cannot Be Concealed. Even A Small Cough. Even A Small Love.

I Tied Down Time With A Rope But It Came Back. Then I Put My Head In A Death Bowl And My Eyes Shut Up Like Clams. They Didn't Come Back.

God Went Out Of Me As If The Sea Dried Up Like Sandpaper, As If The Sun Became A Latrine. God Went Out Of My Fingers. They Became Stone. My Body Became A Side Of Mutton And Despair Roamed The Slaughterhouse.