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In The Slaughterhouse Of Love, They Kill Only The Best, None Of The Weak Or Deformed. Don't Run Away From This Dying. Whoever's Not Killed For Love Is Dead Meat.

I Do Not Know Who Lives Here In My Chest, Or Why The Smile Comes. I Am Not Myself, More The Bare Green Knob Of A Rose That Lost Every Leaf And Petal To The Morning Wind.

I Honor Those Who Try To Rid Themselves Of Any Lying, Who Empty The Self And Have Only Clear Being There.

At The End Of My Life, With Just One Breath Left, If You Come, I’ll Sit Up And Sing.

The Ground's Generosity Takes In Our Compost And Grows Beauty! Try To Be More Like The Ground.