The Lord Survives The Rainbow Of His

I Myself Am Hell; Nobody's Here

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

The Scythers, Time And Death, Helmed Locusts, Move Upon The Tree Of Breath

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.

I Was Overcome With An Attack Of Pathological Enthusiasm.