The Only Way To Kill

May The Devil Himself Splatter You With Dung.

The Dead Drug Leaves A Ghost Behind. At Certain Hours It Haunts The House.

The Poet Doesn't Invent. He Listens.

All Good Music Resembles Something. Good Music Stirs By Its Mysterious Resemblance To The Objects And Feelings Which Motivated It.

I Have Lost My Seven Best Friends, Which Is To Say God Has Had Mercy On Me Seven Times Without Realizing It. He Lent A Friendship, Took It From Me, Sent Me Another.