The Human Eyelid Is Not Teartight (happily

Dear Incomprehension, It's Thanks To You I'll Be Myself, In The End.

My Keepers, Why Keepers, I'm In No Danger Of Stirring An Inch, Ah I See, It's To Make Me Think I'm A Prisoner, Frantic With Corporeality, Rearing To Get Out And Away.

What Do I Know Of Man's Destiny? I Could Tell You More About Radishes.

Tears And Laughter, They Are So Much Gaelic To Me.

The Time Is Perhaps Not Altogether Too Green For The Vile Suggestion That Art Has Nothing To Do With Clarity, Does Not Dabble In The Clear And Does Not Make Clear, And More Than The Light Of Day (or Night) Makes The Subsolar, -lunar, And -stellar Excrement. Art Is The Sun, Moon, And Stars Of The Mind, The Whole Mind.