And The Aura Of You Remains, Remains,

You Must Be A Poet, A Lady Of Evil Luck Desiring To Be What You Are Not, Longing To Be What You Can Only Visit.

The Day Of Fire Is Coming, The Thrush Will Fly Ablaze Like A Little Sky Rocket.

Poems Aren't Postcards To Send Home.

And Thus Snow White Became The Prince's Bride. The Wicked Queen Was Invited To The Wedding Feast And When She Arrived There Were Red-hot Iron Shoes, In The Manner Of Red-hot Roller Skates, Clamped Upon Her Feet.

O Yellow Eye, Let Me Be Sick With Your Heat, Let Me Be Feverish And Frowning.