I Shall Also Take You Forth And

With A Sudden Sharp Hot Stink Of Fox, It Enters The Dark Hole Of The Head. The Window Is Starless Still; The Clock Ticks, The Page Is Printed.

Do As You Like With Me. I'm Your Parcel. I Have Only Our Address On Me. Open Me, Or Readdress Me.

What Happened Casually Remains -

The Inmost Spirit Of Poetry, In Other Words, Is At Bottom, In Every Recorded Case, The Voice Of Pain – And The Physical Body, So To Speak, Of Poetry, Is The Treatment By Which The Poet Tries To Reconcile That Pain With The World.

Haven’t You Heard Of The Music Of The Spheres?” Asked The Dragon. “it’s The Music That Space Makes To Itself. All The Spirits Inside All The Stars Are Singing. I’m A Star Spirit. I Sing Too. The Music Of The Spheres Is What Makes Space So Peaceful.