Widow. The Word Consumes Itself.

I Don’t Care About Anyone, And The Feeling Is Quite Obviously Mutual.

I Find That In A Novel I Can Get More Of Life, Perhaps Not Such Intense Life, But Certainly More Of Life Than In Poetry.

I Am Too Pure For You Or Anyone.

People Or Stars Regard Me Sadly, I Disappoint Them.

I Am So Hungry For A Big Smashing Creative Burgeoning Burdened Love.