She Thougt Of Sunrise Over

So Generation After Generation Of Men In Love With Pain And Passivity Serve Out Their Time In The Zone, Silent, Redolent Of Faded Sperm, Terrified Of Dying, Desperately Addicted To The Comforts Others Sell Them, However Useless, Ugly Or Shallow, Willing To Have Life Defined For Them By Men Whose Only Talent Is For Death.

I Came," She Said, "hoping You Could Talk Me Out Of A Fantasy." Cherish It!" Cried Hilarious, Fiercely. "what Else Do Any Of You Have? Hold It Tightly By It's Little Tentacle, Don't Let The Freudians Coax It Away Or The Pharmacists Poison It Out Of You. Whatever It Is, Hold It Dear, For When You Lose It You Go Over By That Much To The Others. You Begin To Cease To Be.

Length Is Usually Intensity. Not Time.

The Lord's Angel, Gebrail, Dictated The Koran To Mohammed The Lord's Prophet. What A Joke If All That Holy Book Were Only Twenty-three Years Of Listening To The Desert. A Desert Which Has No Voice.

I Dream That I Have Found Us Both Again, With Spring So Many Strangers' Lives Away, And We, So Free, Out Walking By The Sea, With Someone Else's Paper Words To Say.... They Took Us At The Gates Of Green Return, Too Lost By Then To Stop, And Ask Them Why- Do Children Meet Again? Does Any Trace Remain, Along The Superhighways Of July?