The Blood Jet Is Poetry And There

Beached Under The Spumy Blooms, We Lie Sea-sick And Fever-dry.

It Is Awful To Want To Go Away And To Want To Go Nowhere.

I Must Not Be Selfless: Develop A Sense Of Self. A Solidness That Can't Be Attacked.

I Want So Obviously, So Desperately To Be Loved, And To Be Capable Of Love.

Masks Are The Order Of The Day - And The Least I Can Do Is Cultivate The Illusion That I Am Gay, Serene, Not Hollow And Afraid.