The World Is The House

And His Hands Would Plait The Priest's Entrails, For Want Of A Rope, To Strangle Kings.

To Describe Women, The Pen Should Be Dipped In The Humid Colors Of The Rainbow, And The Paper Dried With The Dust Gathered From The Wings Of A Butterfly.

La Poe Sie Veutquelque Chose D'e Norme, Debarbare Et De Sauvage. Poetry Needs Something On The Scale Of The Grand, The Barbarous, The Savage.

The God Of The Christians Is A Father Who Makes Much Of His Apples, And Very Little Of His Children.

Jacques Said That His Master Said That Everything Good Or Evil We Encounter Here Below Was Written On High.