The Future Is A Fog

Daylight Is Nobody's Friend. God Comes In Like A Landlord And Flashes On His Brassy Lamp.

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.

Now That I Have Written Many Words, And Let Out So Many Loves, For So Many, And Been Altogether What I Always Was A Woman Of Excess, Of Zeal And Greed, I Find The Effort Useless.

It Is A Dead Heart. It Is Inside Of Me. It Is A Stranger Yet Once It Was Agreeable, Opening And Closing Like A Clam.

Being Kissed On The Back Of The Knee Is A Moth At The Windowscreen.