He Knew That Hair Couldn't Feel; He

I Lit A Thin Green Candle To Make You Jealous Of Me, But The Room Just Filled Up With Mosquitoes.

Who Could Have Foretold The Heart Grows Old From Touching Others

In Montreal Spring Is Like An Autopsy. Everyone Wants To See The Inside Of The Frozen Mammoth. Girls Rip Off Their Sleeves And The Flesh Is Sweet And White, Like Wood Under Green Bark. From The Streets A Sexual Manifesto Rises Like An Inflating Tire, “the Winter Has Not Killed Us Again!

I Cannot Understand Why My Arm Is Not A Lilac Tree.

Like Any Dealer He Was Watching For The Card That Is So High And Wild He'll Never Need To Deal Another. He Was Just Some Joseph Looking For A Manger.