I, Love, I Am The Pure Acetylene

Backward We Traveled To Reclaim The Day Before We Fell, Like Icarus, Undone; All We Find Are Altars In Decay And Profane Words Scrawled Black Across The Sun.

The Sun Gives You Ulcers, The Wind Gives You T.b. Once You Were Beautiful.

I Need More Than Anything Right Now What Is, Of Course, Most Impossible, Someone To Love Me, To Be With Me At Night When I Wake Up In Shuddering Horror And Fear Of The Cement Tunnels Leading Down To The Shock Room, To Comfort Me With An Assurance That No Psychiatrist Can Quite Manage To Convey.

If You Expect Nothing From Anybody, You’re Never Disappointed.

God, How I Ricochet Between Certainties And Doubts.