We All Want What's Been

The Body Whips The Soul. In Its Great Desire It Demands The Elixir In The Roar Of Spring, Transmutations.

Forgive Me If I Sleep Until I Wake Up.

You Can Do Anything, Really. And That, L Think, Is One Of The Exciting Possibilities Of The Present, L Swear, Is The Possibility That The Goddamn Thing Can Be Modaled Throughout.

A Poem Is Energy Transferred From Where The Poet Got It (he Will Have Some Several Causations), By Way Of The Poem Itself To, All The Way Over To, The Reader.

One Loves Only Form, And Form Only Comes Into Existence When The Thing Is Born.