Let My Lusts Be My Ruin, Then,

[the Essences Of Things] Are Suspended On The Invisible Dimension Whose Vibrance Has Been Denied The Human Eye At All Times Save In The Intuition Of Ecstasy.

The Form Of My Poem Rises Out Of A Past That So Overwhelms The Present With Its Worth And Vision That I'm At A Loss To Explain My Delusion That There Exist Any Real Links Between That Past And A Future Worthy Of It.

It Has Taken A Great Deal Of Energy, Which Has Not Been So Difficult To Summon As The Necessary Patience To Wait, Simply Wait Much Of The Time - Until My Instincts Assured Me That I Had Assembled My Materials In Proper Order For A Final Welding Into Their Natural Form.

Your Primary Presumption That The Bridge Was Proffered As An Epic Has No Substantial Foundation. You Know Quite Well That I Doubt That Our Present Stage Of Cultural Development Is So Ordered Yet As To Provide The Means Or Method For Such An Organic Manifestation As That.

Goodbye, Everybody! (suicide Note)