God Is Only Mocked By Believers.

Though Rain Curses The Window Let The Poem Be Made.

I Rot On The Wall, My Own Dorian Gray.

And We Are Magic Talking To Itself, Noisy And Alone. I Am Queen Of All My Sins Forgotten. Am I Still Lost? Once I Was Beautiful. Now I Am Myself

I Like You; Your Eyes Are Full Of Language." [letter To Anne Clarke, July 3, 1964.]

... Man Is Eating The Earth Up Like A Candy Bar.