The Loss Of My Sight Was A

You Cried For Night - It Falls. Now Cry In Darkness.

In The Landscape Of Extinction, Precision Is Next To Godliness.

That Penny Farthing Hell You Call Your Mind

Any Fool Can Turn A Blind Eye But Who Knows What The Ostrich Sees In The Sand.

You Would Do Better, At Least No Worse, To Obliterate Texts Than To Blacken Margins, To Fill In The Holes Of Words Till All Is Blank And Flat And The Whole Ghastly Business Looks Like What It Is, Senseless, Speechless, Issueless Misery.