I Think It Will Be

I Have Forgiven All The Old Actors For Dying. A New One Comes On With The Same Lines, Like Large White Growths, In His Mouth. The Dancers Come On From The Wings, Perfectly Mated.

Blue Eyes Wash Off Sometimes.

Give Me Your Skin As Sheer As A Cobweb, Let Me Open It Up And Listen In And Scoop Out The Dark.

Dead Drunk Is The Term I Think Of, Insensible, Neither Cool Nor Warm, Without A Head Or A Foot. To Be Drunk Is To Be Intimate With A Fool.

Love Your Self's Self Where It Lives.