The Only Sin Is The Sin Of

What Goes By The Name Of Love Is Banishment, With Now And Then A Postcard From The Homeland, Such Is My Considered Opinion, This Evening.

To-morrow, When I Wake, Or Think I Do, What Shall I Say Of To-day?

Abode Where Lost Bodies Roam Each Searching For Its Lost One.

Imagination At Wit's End Spreads Its Sad Wings.

To Find A Form That Accommodates The Mess, That Is The Task Of The Artist Now.