I Don't Think Anything Might Have Been.

Mr Earbrass Stands On The Terrace At Twilight. It Is Bleak; It Is Cold; And The Virtue Has Gone Out Of Everything. Words Drift Through His Mind: Anguish Turnips Conjunctions Illness Defeat String Parties No Parties Urns Desuetude Disaffection Claws Loss Trebizond Napkins Shame Stones Distance Fever Antipodes Mush Glaciers Incoherence Labels Miasma Amputation Tides Deceit Mourning Elsewards.

Such Excess Of Passion Is Quite Out Of Fashion

I Tend To Be Rather Inconsequential And Trail Off.

The Helpful Thought For Which You Look Is Written Somewhere In A Book.

I Really Think I Write About Everyday Life. I Don't Think I'm Quite As Odd As Others Say I Am.