That Is Salvation. To Give Of Love

I Wanted Change And Excitement And To Shoot Off In All Directions Myself, Like The Colored Arrows From A Fourth Of July Rocket.

On The Train: Staring Hypnotized At The Blackness Outside The Window, Feeling The Incomparable Rhythmic Language Of The Wheels, Clacking Out Nursery Rhymes, Summing Up Moments Of The Mind Like The Chant Of A Broken Record: God Is Dead, God Is Dead. Going, Going, Going. And The Pure Bliss Of This, The Erotic Rocking Of The Coach. France Splits Open Like A Ripe Fig In The Mind; We Are Raping The Land, We Are Not Stopping.

I Shut My Eyes And All The World Drops Dead; I Lift My Eyes And All Is Born Again.

I Suppose If I Gave Myself The Chance I Could Be An Alcoholic.

The Silence Between Us Was So Profound I Thought Part Of It Must Be My Fault.