Love Is Not Love Until Love's Vulnerable.

The Stones Were Sharp, The Wind Came At My Back; Walking Along The Highway, Mincing Like A Cat.

Be Sure That Whatever You Are Is You.

But When I Breath With The Birds, The Spirit Of Wrath Becomes The Spirit Of Blessings, And The Dead Begin From Their Dark To Sing In My Sleep.

The Self Says, I Am; The Heart Says, I Am Less; The Spirit Says, You Are Nothing.

The Indignity Of It!- With Everything Blooming Above Me, Lilies, Pale-pink Cyclamen, Roses, Whole Fields Lovely And Inviolate,- Me Down In The Fetor Of Weeds, Crawling On All Fours, Alive, In A Slippery Grave.