I Stand On The Corner, Pretending I

You Fit Into Me Like A Hook Into An Eye A Fish Hook An Open Eye

Expectation Isn't The Same As Desire

I Became A Poet At The Age Of Sixteen. I Did Not Intend To Do It. It Was Not My Fault.

I Suppose It's Everyone's Fate To Be Reduced To Quaintness By Those Younger Than Themselves.

Stick A Shovel Into The Ground Almost Anywhere And Some Horrible Thing Or Other Will Come To Light. Good For Trade, We Thrive On Bones; Without Them There'd Be No Stories.