When The Suicide Arrived At The Sky,

But I Like It Because It Is Bitter, And Because It Is My Heart.

The Red Sun Was Pasted In The Sky Like A Wafer.

I Walked In A Desert. And I Cried, ‘ah, God, Take Me From This Place!’ A Voice Said, ‘it Is No Desert.’ I Cried, ‘well, But - The Sand, The Heat, The Vacant Horizon.’ A Voice Said, ‘it Is No Desert.’

Half Of Tradition Is A Lie.

He Vaguely Desired To Walk Around And Around The Body And Stare; The Impulse Of The Living To Try To Read In Dead Eyes The Answer To The Question.