You Were Marlon Brando, I Was Steve

I Cannot Understand Why My Arm Is Not A Lilac Tree.

The Fact That My Songs Take A Long Time To Write Is No Guarantee Of Their Excellence.

I Am Running Through A Snowfall Which Is Her Thighs, He Dramatized In Purple. Her Thighs Are Filling Up The Street. Wide As A Snowfall, Heavy As Huge Falling Zeppelins, Her Damp Thighs Are Settling On The Sharp Roofs And Wooden Balconies. Weather-vanes Press The Shape Of Roosters And Sail-boats Into The Skin. The Faces Of Famous Statues Are Preserved Like Intaglios.

I Have Tried In My Way To Be Free.

Pay Attention To The Cracks, Because That's Where The Light Gets In.