Talking About The Past Is Like A

Talking About The Past Is Like A Cat's Trying To Explain Climbing Down A Ladder.

If Youth Is A Defect, It Is One We Outgrow Too Soon.

And Blue-lung'd Combers Lumbered To The Kill.

I Will Catch Christ With A Greased Worm, And When The Prince Of Darkness Stalks My Bloodstream To Its Stygian Term . . . On Water The Man-fisher Walks.

We Feel The Machine Slipping From Our Hands As If Someone Else Were Steering; If We See Light At The End Of The Tunnel, It's The Light Of The Oncoming Train.