Fear / A Motor, /

My Ideas Are A Curse. They Spring From A Radical Discontent With The Awful Order Of Things. I Play Clown. I Play Carpenter. I Play Nurse. I Play Witch.

God Went Out Of Me As If The Sea Dried Up Like Sandpaper, As If The Sun Became A Latrine. God Went Out Of My Fingers. They Became Stone. My Body Became A Side Of Mutton And Despair Roamed The Slaughterhouse.

Thief!- How Did You Crawl Into, Crawl Down Alone Into The Death I Wanted So Badly And For So Long.

To Tell The Truth Days Are All The Same Size And Words Aren't Much Company.

Every Time I Get Happy The Nana-hex Comes Through. Birds Turn Into Plumber's Tools, A Sonnet Turns Into A Dirty Joke, A Wind Turns Into A Tracheotomy, A Boat Turns Into A Corpse.