Silly Girls Your Heads Full Of Boys

The Ellipse Is As Aimless As That, Stretching Invisibly Into The Future So As To Reappear In Our Present. Its Flexing Is Its Account, Return To The Point Of No Return.

How Funny Your Name Would Be If You Could Follow It Back To Where The First Person Thought Of Saying It, Naming Himself That, Or Maybe Some Other Persons Thought Of It And Named That Person. It Would Be Like Following A River To Its Source, Which Would Be Impossible. Rivers Have No Source.

So I Cradle This Average Violin That Knows Only Forgotten Showtunes, But Argues The Possibility Of Free Declamation Anchored To A Dull Refrain.

The Gray Glaze Of The Past Attacks All Know-how...

Imagine A Painter Crucified By His Subject!