... He Is Rewarded With A Form

Real Tenderness Can't Be Confused, It's Quiet And Can't Be Heard.

Natural Thunder Heralds The Wetness Of Fresh Water High Clouds To Quench The Thirst Of Fields Gone Dry And Parched, A Messenger Of Blessed Rain, But This Was As Dry As Hell Must Be. My Distraught Perception Refused To Believe It, Because Of The Insane Suddenness With Which It Sounded, Swelled And Hit, And How Casually It Came To Murder My Child.

We Are All Carousers And Loose Women Here; How Unhappy We Are Together!

Mary Magdalene Beat Her Breasts And Sobbed, His Dear Disciple, Stone-faced, Stared. His Mother Stood Apart. No Other Looked Into Her Secret Eyes. Nobody Dared.

The Stars Of Death Stood Over Us. And Russia, Guiltless, Beloved, Writhed Under The Crunch Of Bloodstained Boots, Under The Wheels Of Black Marias.