The Head Has Its Confines.

The Head Has Its Confines. The Head’s Got Those All Right, And The Heart. The Heart Has Its Reasons.

Oh. To Be Filled With Goodness Then Shattered By Goodness, So Beautifully Mosaically Fragmented By Such Shocking Goodness.

Nothing Is Harmful To Literature Except Censorship, And That Almost Never Stops Literature Going Where It Wants To Go Either, Because Literature Has A Way Of Surpassing Everything That Blocks It And Growing Stronger For The Exercise.

Tonight I Can Smell The Season The Way It's Usually Only Possible To At The Very First Moments Of Its Return, Before You're Used To It, When You've Forgotten Its Smell, Then There It Is Back In The Air And The Flow Of Things Shifting And Resettling Again.

To Be Known So Well By Someone Is An Unimaginable Gift. But To Be Imagined So Well By Someone Is Even Better.