O Starry Night, This Is

Stop The Darkness And Its Amputations And Find The Real Mccoy In The Private Holiness Of My Hands.

Not That It Was Beautiful, But That, In The End, There Was A Certain Sense Of Order There; Something Worth Learning In That Narrow Diary Of My Mind

Man Is A Bird Full Of Mud, I Say Aloud. And Death Looks On With A Casual Eye And Scratches His Anus.

I Love The Word Warm. It Is Almost Unbearable-- So Moist And Breathlike.

The Windows, The Starving Windows That Drive The Trees Like Nails Into My Heart.