The Ear Writes My Poems, Not The

Deftly They Opened The Brain Of A Child, And It Was Full Of Flying Dreams.

The Ear Writes My Poems, Not The Mind.

Live In The Layers, Not On The Litter.

Darling, Do You Remember The Man You Married? Touch Me, Remind Me Who I Am.

When They Shall Paint Our Sockets Gray And Light Us Like A Stinking Fuse, Remember That We Once Could Say, Yesterday We Had A World To Lose.