Oh, Darling, Let Your Body

My Objects Dream And Wear New Costumes, Compelled To, It Seems, By All The Words In My Hands And The Sea That Bangs In My Throat.

All I Am Is The Trick Of Words Writing Themselves.

She Is So Naked And Singular. She Is The Sum Of Yourself And Your Dream. Climb Her Like A Monument, Step After Step. She Is Solid.

The Tongue, The Chinese Say, Is Like A Sharp Knife: It Kills Without Drawing Blood.

God Has A Brown Voice, As Soft And Full As Beer.