Their Monument Sticks Like A Fishbone In

I Will Catch Christ With A Greased Worm, And When The Prince Of Darkness Stalks My Bloodstream To Its Stygian Term . . . On Water The Man-fisher Walks.

History Has To Live With What Was Here, Clutching And Close To Fumbling All We Had - It Is So Dull And Gruesome How We Die, Unlike Writing, Life Never Finishes.

If Youth Is A Defect, It Is One We Outgrow Too Soon.

I Myself Am Hell; Nobody's Here

Talking About The Past Is Like A Cat's Trying To Explain Climbing Down A Ladder.