Pain Is The World. I Don't Have

The More Rapidly The Water Moves, The Lighter It Seems.

And I'm Working At Trying To Find A Kind Of Language Where I Won't Be So Easily Modulated By Expectation.

Perhaps If Human Desire Is Said Out Loud, The Urban Planes, The Prisons, The Architectural Mirrors Will Take Off, As Airplanes Do. The Black Planes Will Take Off Into The Night Air And The Night Winds, Sliding Past And Behind Each Other, Zooming, Turning And Turning In The Redness Of The Winds, Living, Never To Return.

The Whole World Is Men's Bloody Fantasies.

Those Who Are Driven By Poverty, Those Who're Free From Material Worries Hunger Exhausting Labor A Joyless Existence Ask The Same Question, The Question Of Meaning.