Form Is Never More Than An Extension

Love, If You Love Me, Lie Next To Me. Be For Me, Like Rain, The Getting Out Of The Tiredness, The Fatuousness, The Semi- Lust Of Intentional Indifference. Be Wet With A Decent Happiness.

The Pattern Of The Narrative Never Of Necessity Wants To End, It Never Has To.

No Matter How Wild Reality Was Obviously Often Being, It Was An Absolutely Secure Place, As A Tone And Intelligence, And A Thing Happening.

My Nature Is A Quagmire Of Unresolved Confessions.

I Heard Words And Words Full Of Holes Aching.