My Mouth Blooms Like A Cut.

Rats Live On No Evil Star

The Snow Has Quietness In It; No Songs, No Smells, No Shouts Or Traffic. When I Speak My Own Voice Shocks Me.

Mood Can Be As Important As Sense.

Come, My Pretender, My Fritter, My Bubbler, My Chicken Biddy! Oh Succulent One, It Is But One Turn In The Road And I Would Be A Cannibal!

Not That It Was Beautiful, But That I Found Some Order There.