In The Garden I Will Die. In

Today In My Heart A Vague Trembling Of Stars And All Roses Are As White As My Pain.

The Night Below. We Two. Crystal Of Pain. You Wept Over Great Distances. My Ache Was A Clutch Of Agonies Over Your Sickly Heart Of Sand.

I'll Always Be Happy If They'd Leave Me Alone In That Delightful And Unknown Furthest Corner, Apart From Struggles, Putrefactions And Nonsense; The Ultimate Corner Of Sugar And Toast, Where The Mermaids Catch The Branches Of The Willows And The Heart Opens To A Flute's Sharpness.

We're All Like The Little Sailor. From The Harbors We Hear The Strains Of Accordions And The Murky Soapy Noises Of The Docks, From The Mountains We Receive The Dish Of Silence That The Shepherds Eat, But We Don't Hear More Than Our Own Distances. And What Distances Without End And Without Doors And Without Mountains!

I Was Lucky Enough To See With My Own Eyes The Recent Stock-market Crash, Where They Lost Several Million Dollars, A Rabble Of Dead Money That Went Sliding Off Into The Sea.