Be What You Are. Give What Is

The Poem Comes In The Form Of A Blessing, Like Rapture Breaking On The Mind.

Forward My Mail To Mars.

The Unconscious Creates, The Ego Edits.

In My Darkest Night, When The Moon Was Covered And I Roamed Through Wreckage, A Nimbus-clouded Voice Directed Me: "live In The Layers, Not On The Litter." Though I Lack The Art To Decipher It, No Doubt The Next Chapter In My Book Of Transformations Is Already Written. I Am Not Done With My Changes.

What Makes The Engine Go? Desire, Desire, Desire.