We Can Only Know What We Can

There Are Obviously A Great Many Ways To Organize Some Fraction Of The Material In A Life.

The Work Of The World Is Common As Mud. Botched, It Smears The Hands, Crumbles To Dust. But The Thing Worth Doing Well Done Has A Shape That Satisfies, Clean And Evident.

The Ruling Class Isn't Dissatisfied: They Are Healthy, Well-fed, Live In Beauty, Enjoy Their Own Importance: Fun-loving Cannibals.

Love Says, Mine. Love Says, I Could Eat You Up. Love Says, Stay As You Are, Be My Own Private Thing, Don't You Dare Have Ideas I Don't Share. Love Has Just Got To Gobble The Other, Bones And All, Crunch. I Don't Want To Do That. I Sure Don't Want It Done To Me!

The Moon Is Always Female And So Am I Although Often In The Vale Of Razorblades I Have Wished I Could Put On And Take Off My Sex Like A Dress And Why Not?