The Moon Has Nothing To

The Sheets Grow Heavy As A Lecher's Kiss.

When I Fell Out Of The Light, I Entered The Stomach Of Indifference, The Wordless Cupboard.

I Have A Violence In Me That Is Hot As Death-blood.

I Had Removed My Patent Leather Shoes After A While, For They Foundered Badly In The Sand. It Pleased Me To Think They Would Be Perched There On The Silver Log, Pointing Out To Sea, Like A Sort Of Soul-compass, After I Was Dead.

I Wanted To Be Where Nobody I Knew Could Ever Come.